American Dreams

by Janet Dailey

  Of all the delegates, only The Blade's father-in-law, Will Gordon, continued to believe there was hope. He turned a deaf ear to the advice from their former allies and a blind eye to the steady erosion of their support. Only one other person aside from Will Gordon refused to accept the futility of the current stand against removal... Temple.

  The Blade cast a brief glance in her direction, aware of the friction that now existed between them over this issue. To even hint that those around them might be right was to arouse her temper. After two heated arguments, he now avoided the subject entirely.

  His glance fell on the golden-haired lieutenant. A part of him was glad that Parmelee had engaged her in conversation and prevented Temple from overhearing the discouraging advice from Crockett. But he also resented the attention the officer continued to lavish on his wife under the guise of friendship.

  "I will inform the council of your recommendation, Mr. Crockett."

  Temple caught her husband's noncommittal reply. At the same instant, Lieutenant Parmelee said something to momentarily distract her.

  "I beg your pardon. What did you say, Lieutenant?"

  "I wondered if you would like more tea."

  "No, thank you."

  "Is something wrong? Forgive me for being so forward, but you seem preoccupied."

  "I was thinking of home." Which was close to the truth. "We will be leaving in a few days."

  "Washington will seem very dull without you here to brighten it."

  "That is hardly the impression I have received. Everyone I have met seems anxious for the Cherokees to leave." Behind the lightness of her reply, there was a tinge of bitterness.

  "Not I. The thought of never seeing you again—" He broke off the sentence, his features stiffening into an expressionless mask as if trying to conceal the ardor that had been in both his voice and his eyes.

  "Perhaps we shall meet again someday," she suggested gently.

  "Perhaps," he agreed.

  On the fifteenth of May, the delegation set out for home. When they returned, they found their families in high spirits, buoyed by the Supreme Court's decision yet puzzled by the continued imprisonment of the missionaries and the flood of surveyors from Georgia that had spread over Gordon Glen and Seven Oaks, marking trees and carving on posts, dividing the plantations into 160-acre parcels to be given away in a lottery in the fall.

  With a heavy heart, Eliza listened to Will Gordon explain that nothing had changed. But he was convinced their vindication would follow the elections in November, elections that would vote a new administration into office, one more favorably disposed to the legal rights of the Cherokee Nation. Eliza believed as he did and wished that women had the right to vote so that she might cast a ballot against Jackson. She was tired of her passive role of moral support and longed for a more active one.

  16

  Gordon Glen

  Christmas 1832

  A wet snow frosted the branches of the trees and covered the lawn of Gordon Glen with a soft blanket of white. In the dining room, flames danced over and under the logs in the fireplace, its mantel adorned with festive greenery. Platters of food crowded the table, leaving little room for the guests seated around it, members of the Gordon and Stuart families as well as Eliza and the visiting Nathan Cole.

  With heads bowed, they listened to the grace offered by Nathan on this holy day. All except little Johnny, who fussed and fidgeted with a typical three-year-old's impatience at such things, mindless of his mother's quiet shushings.

  When Nathan concluded the meal's prayer, Will Gordon picked up the carving knife and began to slice portions from the roast leg of lamb Black Cassie set before him. "This is indeed a bountiful feast you have prepared for us, Victoria," Will declared, glancing to the opposite end of his table at his wife.

  Thinner and paler than a year ago, Victoria smiled back at him. "With reason. This is the first time you have been home to share it with us in several years. However, much of the credit for today's dinner belongs to Eliza. She supervised most of the meal preparations." Gratitude and a growing reliance mingled together in the look she gave Eliza.

  "If the mutton is as succulent as it looks beneath the knife, it is an excellent job you have done, Miss Eliza Hall," Shawano Stuart proclaimed. "Mutton is my favorite. Did you know this?"

  "No. For that, you must thank Mrs. Gordon. She chose the items for today's fare. I merely saw that her wishes were carried out."

  With Victoria Gordon's health still precarious at best, Eliza had tried over the last several months to help in whatever capacity she could, gradually taking over many of the more arduous tasks. The additional rest seemed to have restored some of Victoria's strength. Eliza didn't mind the extra work, especially now. She shied away from that thought, not wanting the holiday spoiled by the shadows of gloom that Jackson's refusal to intervene had cast over the Nation.

  "Miss Hall strung all the evergreen boughs, too," Xandra inserted brightly. "And she taught us the Christmas carol we will sing for you after dinner."

  "You are stupid, Xandra." Kipp viewed his sister with superior contempt. "We aren't going to sing anything."

  "Why?" Disappointment clouded her face.

  "Because Charlie, Tom, and the others aren't here to sing their parts. That's why," he mocked.

  "I forgot," she mumbled and looked down at her plate.

  Eliza saw the pained look that flickered briefly in Will Gordon's face. A tense silence followed Xandra's unwitting introduction of the subject everyone had tried to avoid.

  Temple sighed, and the sound carried a trace of anger. "I wish Uncle George and Aunt Sarah had stayed, at least until tomorrow. It is not the same without them around the table with us."

  "It was their decision," Will Gordon reminded her.

  "Do you think they reached Lookout Mountain before it began to snow?" Temple wondered.

  "They should have," The Blade replied.

  "Wet snows like this frequently cause avalanches in the mountains. What if they are stranded somewhere?"

  "I am certain they are safe," Eliza offered into the silence that greeted Temple's comment.

  "They never should have let those—people—have their house. Uncle George built it himself. It belonged to him and Aunt Sarah." Temple's voice trembled with barely controlled anger. "That lottery ticket the man had meant nothing. Georgia has no right to give away land and buildings that don't belong to it."

  "Unfortunately, there is nothing we can do to stop them." Will forked a generous portion of the sliced lamb onto Shawano Stuart's plate.

  "All this talk about lottery and giving away tracts of land to some holder of a pasteboard ticket. I never thought it would come to pass." Nathan stared at the platters of food on the table, but made no effort to dish any of it onto his plate. "I never believed Georgia would have the gall to commit such outright thievery."

  "Now that Jackson has been elected to a second term, Georgia will grow even bolder," The Blade warned.

  "You cannot be sure of that," Eliza protested. "Look at the stand Jackson took against South Carolina. He dispatched a warship and several cutters to Charleston, and threatened to send troops after Carolina attempted to overrule federal law and claim its own sovereignty. If he feels that strongly—to the extent that he would risk civil war—then he will not allow Georgia to defy the law."

  "Jackson will not intervene, you can be certain of that, Miss Hall," The Blade chided her with a dry cynicism. "He has a double standard where Indians are concerned. South Carolina is wrong, but Georgia is right. He told us as much last spring."

  "I have heard that Jackson fears if he sides against Georgia as well, she will join South Carolina and secede from the Union," Nathan inserted. "Civil war would be a certainty in such an event."

  "Jackson fears nothing," The Blade retorted. "William Wirt himself said that after Jackson's huge victory in the election, he could become president for life if he chose. The enemy is in power and our situation will only grow worse."
<
br />   "We will survive," Will stated calmly.

  "How?" The demand shot from The Blade. "What plan does Ross have?"

  The tension became palpable. At the October council meeting, The Blade had joined with John Ridge and Elias Boudinot in advocating that a delegation be sent to Washington to negotiate a new treaty. Will and the vast majority had been upset by that plan. Emigration west was not an alternative in their eyes. But the split within the membership had occurred. No longer was the consensus unanimous.

  "Now is not the time to discuss it," Will Gordon said sharply. "This is a day of peace. Let us observe it together."

  "I agree," Shawano Stuart said, casting a reproachful look at his son, displeased with the dissension he had created.

  When Phoebe entered the kitchen, she spied Shadrach at the sink, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his hands immersed in the water, scrubbing away at the pots and pans. She glanced surreptitiously over her shoulder to make sure her mammy wasn't in sight, then reached under her apron into the pocket of her dress and pulled out her kerchief, all folded in a small bundle to conceal its contents.

  "Here. I brought this for you." She crossed to the sink and waited while her brother dried his wet hands on the front of his apron. "I know how much you like it."

  When he took it from her and felt its contents, his eyes lit up. "Is it benne brittle?"

  "Uh-huh." Phoebe watched as he carefully folded back the kerchief corners to reveal the thin chunks of hard candy inside. "Miss Temple made a big batch of it. I didn't think she'd miss this little bit." He snapped off a small piece of the brittle made with sesame seeds—or benne, as they called them—and popped it in his mouth. "Better not let Mammy hear you crunching on that," she cautioned. "She'll think you stole it from Miss Victoria."

  "She didn't make any this year," he said, his left cheek bulging with the sweet.

  "You better put that in your pocket just the same. If Mammy finds out, she'll start wailing about stealing and how much trouble you'll be in."

  "She does it all the time." Shadrach buried the bundle in the bottom of his pocket. "You saw her today, taking a bite of everything. Just tasting, she calls it. She tasted the whole dinner."

  "I know." Phoebe smiled, then studied her little brother, again amazed by how tall he'd grown. The last time she'd seen him, the top of his head had barely come to her shoulder. Now he could nearly look her in the eye. "You've shot up like a weed in a poke patch."

  "You've been gone a long time. It hasn't been the same around here without you," he admitted self-consciously. "I can't talk to the others like I could talk to you. Mammy don't—"

  "Doesn't," Phoebe inserted, correcting him the way Deu was always correcting her.

  "—doesn V show it much, but I know she misses you a powerful lot."

  "I've missed you, too. All of you." Happy as she was with Deu and as much as she loved him, there were still times when she ached to be with her family. The longing was there in her brother's face as well.

  Uncomfortable, he turned his head away. "Tell me what it was like when you went up North. Did you really see all those cities Deu said you did?"

  "All of them and more. Lots of times, Master Blade, he'd give us a pass so we could go walking about when he and Miss Temple were going to be away from the hotel a spell. I saw the big white house where the president of the United States lives. Nearly all the time, there was a whole stream of people going in to visit him. Course, we couldn't go inside. And when we were in Philadelphia, Deu took me to see Independence Hall. He said that was where America was born. And he showed me the big bell they got hanging in the steeple. He told me there's writing on it that says 'Proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof.' That comes from the Bible, Deu said. And New York—" She paused to shake her head, rolling her gaze to the ceiling. "That was the noisiest place I ever did see. And so many people, too. Deu wanted to take me around, but I knew we'd get lost. I told him he could go, but I wasn't setting one foot outside that hotel for him nor nobody. Boston was nice, though. Course, everybody was happy there," Phoebe recalled thoughtfully, then cast a rueful glance at her brother. "But the winters up North get brutal cold. Why, sometimes it was so bad, the hairs in my nose froze. And one time the stagecoach driver had icicles hanging off his beard. And snow, lordy, this isn't anything. Lots of times I saw it belly-deep up there and a fella told us that he'd seen it pile higher than the top of a window, nearly reaching the roof. And winter just hung on forever, too. I was so hungry for home when that plantation come in sight, I started crying. It was all something to see, Shadrach, but I wouldn't never want to live there."

  "Was there any black folks like us up there?"

  "No slaves. They don't own slaves up North. But we did see some free colored men."

  "Were they educated?"

  "I don't know." Phoebe shrugged, then darted a conspiratorial glance at him. "Deu's been teaching me, though. Master Blade lets him take books from the library. We've read about some knight named Ivanhoe and a wise Greek man—Plato, I think his name was."

  "I've been learning, too," Shadrach admitted sotto voce, a grin shining from his face. "Miz Eliza, she leaves books out for me, with the lessons all marked down. Sometimes she even leaves paper out for me and I write things for her and hide them under her pillow."

  "She's doing that on the sly for you? That woman sure is filled with surprises." Phoebe shook her head in amazement.

  "Yeah." He nodded. Then his expression flickered, like a shadow had fallen across it, and his smile faded, the line of his mouth becoming soberly drawn. "What do you think's going to happen to us, Phoebe?"

  "What do you mean?" She frowned, puzzled by his question.

  "All this trouble with the Georgians. What if one of them comes here and makes Master Will leave? I know Master George took his slaves with him when he left, but I heard him telling Master Will that he was gonna sell some so he could start him a new place in Tennessee. Maybe that'll happen to us."

  "Maybe." But it was too frightening to think about.

  Just then the door swung open and Black Cassie came bustling through. When she saw Phoebe and Shadrach standing together, she stopped. "Girl, what're you doin' standin' there? Ain't you got that hard sauce fixed yet fo' the suet puddin'?"

  "I was just fixin' to do it," Phoebe lied.

  "Humph." She snorted her disbelief. "The way you're movin', the snow'll be melted fo' you was through. I does it myself. You git yerself in there an' clear the dishes. And be quick about it. Miz Temple din't brings you over here t' stand around an' talk like you was white folk."

  "Yes'm." Phoebe flashed a quick smile at Shadrach, then hurried from the kitchen.

  From the window of the family parlor, Eliza gazed at the snow-covered landscape, so pristine and peaceful-looking, the crimson earth hidden beneath a smooth white blanket. The limbs of the trees were dipped in snow, and the cedars bowed under the weight of it. After the uneasy tension between Will Gordon and the Stuarts at the dinner table, Eliza welcomed the tranquillity of the scene before her.

  "I had forgotten how beautiful a snowfall can be," she mused aloud to Nathan as he added another log to the fire.

  She turned from the window and wandered over to the fireplace, absently noticing Nathan's absorption in the crackling flames. They were alone, just the two of them. Will Gordon was in the library across the hall, going over the plantation accounts. Victoria was upstairs, taking a short nap with little Johnny. With snowy roads to traverse, the Stuarts had left shortly after the meal was finished. At least, that was the reason they had given, although Eliza suspected the current discord between Will Gordon and The Blade played a large part in the Stuarts' early departure from Gordon Glen.

  A sadness pulled at the corners of her mouth, a sadness over everything. She tried not to think about how empty the school would be without the four Murphy children. Yet she couldn't entirely rid her mind of its melancholy thoughts.

  "Here we are, standing
in front of this cheery fire, our stomachs full from all that delicious food. But I can't help wondering about your two missionary friends still locked in their cells on Christmas. You must be thinking about them too," she said, guessing at the cause for his pensive silence. "How were Mr. Worcester and Dr. Butler when you visited them in prison last week?"

  Nathan hesitated, as if searching for a reply that would avoid a direct answer.

  "Is something wrong?" Eliza frowned. "Tell me."

  "Nothing is wrong," he assured her, then hesitated again. "It's just that.. . they were both very troubled when I saw them. As you know, the attorney Wirt has brought another suit before the Supreme Court to force Georgia to obey its earlier mandate and release them."

  "Yes, I know."

  "The governor of Georgia has suggested a compromise. If they will drop the suit, he will pardon them."

  "But they were wrongly imprisoned," Eliza protested. "Surely they cannot seriously consider this proposal. If they accept a pardon, think how it will look. The Cherokees will believe they have given up."

  "Some may take that view," Nathan admitted. "But their incarceration has served its purpose. They won their case in court. If they persist, Georgia may align with the nullifiers, like South Carolina. The threat of a civil war has not completely been averted. This could precipitate one. They are missionaries, Eliza. The guilt they would feel if such a conflict should occur as a result of their actions ... I don't think they could live with that on their conscience."

  "I suppose not," she conceded.

  "And it is a true compromise. Georgia is not demanding that they swear allegiance, only that they cease any further legal action against the state."

  "What are they going to do?" Either way, Eliza could feel the weight of the potential repercussions.

  "They haven't decided. They have written to Boston to see what the board of commissioners recommends. There hasn't been time to receive a reply yet."