The Rising of Glory Land

by Janie DeVos

  “Papa, let’s take a look! Please!” I pleaded.

  “Lord, Eliza, we don’t even know what the cargo was,” my father laughed.

  “Well,” Mama spoke up, “there’s only one way to find out. Take a look, Max. However, if you’re not interested in doing it, then maybe Eliza, Simon, Turtle, and I will just ride out there. ‘Leave no stone unturned’ is my motto.”

  “And ‘curiosity killed the cat’ is mine,” Papa quipped. “I’ve not heard a word about this wreck.”

  “Yes, you have,” Mama corrected, “from Adam. And if there’re three fellas on it now, there’ll be more soon enough.” She was right. I knew it, and Papa did, too.

  “Adam,” Papa said as he shook his head, “right now, living the life of a lighthouse keeper with nothin’ but the sky and sea for company sounds a lot like heaven on Earth.”

  “You suggestin’ livin’ with two women can be hell on a man, Max?” Adam chuckled.

  “No, sir, I’m not suggestin’ it. I’m confirmin’ it.” Papa sighed, looking quite defeated.

  Chapter 4

  Battle Plans

  The next day, my folks and I left the house before the sun was up. When it set that evening, only Mama and I were home, though Papa was due in at any moment.

  “How’d the interview go with Mr. Flagler?” I asked as I pulled out part of a leftover pork roast and a bowl of collards. Mama was at the stove preparing to make a hoe cake, which was simply a flattened version of cornbread. She was swirling bacon grease around in the bottom of the iron skillet.

  “Well, interesting,” she said, setting the skillet on the stove and pouring the batter in. “And somewhat disturbing,” she added.

  I stopped slicing the roast and looked over at her. “How so?” Mama had become a well-seasoned reporter and very little ruffled her feathers anymore, so to say that she found something disturbing was worrisome.

  “Well, when I got there, Mr. Flagler wasn’t alone. Sitting there with Henry, shoving a giant ham biscuit into his mouth, was none other than our fair state’s governor, Mr. Napoleon Bonaparte Broward.”

  “You’re joking!” I exclaimed, amazed that Mama had been able to scoop an interview with two of the most influential men in all of Florida. “What was said that bothered you so?”

  “It’s this cockamamie plan of draining the Everglades,” Mama said, turning away from the stove to look at me. “Broward is going to carve his name into the Florida wilderness by wiping out enormous chunks of it. In order to create more land for the great masses he thinks will come flocking into the area, he’s dredging out the Everglades, and those who live in the path of his destruction are going to be out of a home.”

  I was afraid to ask, but I had to. “Does that include the Seminole village, Mama? Are they going to be forced to move?”

  “I asked that very same thing and Governor Broward said he didn’t think his plans ‘encompassed that particular area.’ Then he sniffed that arrogant nose of his, wiped strawberry jam out of that horrendously thick mustache, and said, ‘Why, Mrs. Harjo, could I interest you in buying a parcel of that rich land? You hang on to it for no more ’n a year or so and you’ll be able to sell it for a handsome profit.’ Lord, that man! This is the third time I’ve had the displeasure of speaking with him, and each time I leave wonderin’ what the poor state of Florida did to deserve him.” She flipped the hoe cake.

  “When are they startin’ on the dredging, Mama?” I went to the ice box and got out a jar of peach chutney.

  “They already have,” she said. “Eliza, you want these greens warmed up a tad, or you want to eat ’em as is?” Mama stirred the large brown bowl of collards I’d left on the counter.

  “Let’s keep things easy and eat ’em cold,” I suggested. She set the bowl on the table and then went back to the stove for the hoe cake, while I poured glasses of iced tea for each of us.

  “You know, Mama,” I said after we’d both sat down. “It’s time to set my plans for the future in motion, and take a good look around while I’m doing so.” I ate a large forkful of greens.

  “What in the world you talkin’ about?” Mama glanced sideways at me as she squeezed a wedge of lemon into her tea.

  “I’m goin’ over to have a little talk with the chief of the Seminole village, Paroh Monday. I’m gonna see about teaching those children out there, both the boys and the girls. And while I’m out there, I’ll take a look around to see if there’s any sign of that blasted dredging anywhere near the village.”

  “And if there is?” Mama asked with an amused but skeptical look on her face.

  “Then we’re going to see if we can do some re-routing of things, and I might just need you to help me with that.”

  “I’m afraid to ask how,” Mama sighed, bemused.

  “Oh, that’s easy enough.” I smiled. “You’ll just have to arrange a sit down between me and that uppity Napoleon Bonaparte Broward.”

  “Heaven help me,” Mama said, lifting her eyes to the heavens.

  “Heaven help Governor Broward,” I corrected, “should he try to force the Seminoles to vacate their land.”

  “Unfortunately, my darling child, you’ll be the one needing Heaven’s help. It would take God and an entire army of His angels to get Broward to rethink his plan. One little spit and vinegar gal and a small village of red-skinned people certainly aren’t going to have a speck of influence on that man.”

  “Well, we’ll see about that,” I said. “But my first order of business is to convince Paroh to let me teach those children. Until I get that accomplished, I can’t be focusing on anything else,” I added before taking a large bite of hoe cake. A girl had to have sustenance before going into battle.

  Chapter 5

  Deep Cuts

  Papa came in as Mama and I were finishing up slices of key lime pie. After helping himself to a plate of supper, he told us where he’d been.

  “After I brought the hunting party back in, I stopped by Duke’s Saloon.” It went without saying that if you wanted to know something in this town, you went to Duke’s. “Ebner Betts was there warmin’ the same ol’ stool he does most every night. You know him, Eve; he works for Standard Oil, down the river, and has that houseboat docked right off there. We’ve bought oil from him before. Anyway, he said he sold some lubricating oil to some fellas the other day, and those guys happened to be the ones salvaging that wreck Adam was talking about, off of Star Reef. Said it was a medium-sized cutter that went down named the Paso Rápido, out of Cuba, and it was carrying a load of cigars and hams to market in Jacksonville. No one’s quite sure what brought her into that reef. Most likely the captain just didn’t know the waters off Star, and hit it. When the cutter sank, the scent of the hams brought in a school of tiger sharks, and everything—the crew included—was eaten up by ’em. Men making their livin’ from the sea are a superstitious bunch, you know, and that’s why salvagers left the wreck alone even once the sharks were gone. Everyone pretty much forgot about it when the Alicia went down near Long Reef a week later, carrying a much bigger load of cargo on her. What the salvagers on the Alicia didn’t know was that along with the hams and cigars on the Paso Rápido, was fifty thousand dollars in gold and silver coins, and even some bars, that were going to be used in the illegal acquisition of a large office building in Jacksonville. One of the guys salvaging the Paso is a Cuban sponge diver by the name of Herrera, and during a night of heavy drinking at Duke’s, he told ol’ Ebb what had really gone down on the ship ’cause his uncle was the one captaining it. Said it took a lot of convincing and a nice share of the profit to get Herrera to go on out there, but said that it’s been worth it. So far, they’ve found several thousand in gold and silver, and they’re goin’ back for more.”

  “Who’s ‘they,’ Max?” Mama asked. I noticed she was absently playing with the pendant she always wore around her neck, one that my father had made for her ma
ny years ago when they’d first fallen in love. It was made from mother of pearl, and Papa had exquisitely carved the face of a tiger into it. My father lovingly called my mother “kaccv hokte,” which was Creek for “tiger woman,” and the pendant was a beautiful symbol of her animal totem. Originally, it had hung from a leather cord, but Papa had gifted Mama with a beautiful gold chain he’d recovered from a Spanish wreck some years before, and the pendant had graced it ever since. She never removed it, and whenever she was troubled, or in deep thought about something, she moved it back and forth on the chain.

  “Apparently, there’re three guys—including Herrera—working the wreck from a trawler named the Waylaid. The captain is a man by the name of Asher—Ezra Asher.”

  “Papa, you know we have to go out there!” As far as I was concerned, there was no debating the issue.

  “Lord, Eliza, don’t you have enough to keep you busy right now?” Mama asked, and then looked at Papa. “She’s gonna save the world, Max,” she laughed.

  “Well, at least our part of it,” I responded. “Aren’t you curious about what-all’s down there, Papa? C’mon, let’s take a look.”

  “We’ll see, baby girl.” Papa smiled. “But it won’t be any earlier than a couple of days from now.”

  “Which means we will, then!” I smiled, satisfied.

  “One of these days, Eliza, you’re gonna get into a world of trouble.” Mama smiled and shook her head as she refilled Papa’s glass.

  “Oh, I hope so!” I laughed as I put the last forkful of pie in my mouth. “I surely do.”

  “All right, I’ll tell you what I’ll do.” Papa sighed as if he’d finally resigned himself to the fact that I wouldn’t give up until he gave in. He scooted his chair back from the table and lit a thin cigar. “First thing in the morning, let me confirm who’s got the rights on salvaging the Paso, and who the wreck master is. Sounds like it’s probably this guy Asher, but I’ll check it out at the courthouse to make sure. Once I do find out, I’ll need to talk to the man to see what percentage of the cargo he’d give us for helping with the salvage. If it’s too little, then it won’t be worth the time and trouble to go out there. Fair enough?” he asked as he blew out a thin stream of smoke.

  “Fair enough!” I agreed. “And first thing in the morning, I’m going to tell Mrs. Brickell I’ll be going to part-time.”

  “Isn’t that a little premature?” Mama asked as she began to clear the table.

  I got up to help her. “Not at all, Mama, because come hell or high water, I’m going to be teaching out at that village, and even if it’s just the boys to start, I’ll wrangle the girls in at some point.”

  “Don’t take the Seminole traditions too lightly, baby girl,” Papa warned. “They’re very set in their ways, and can be unbelievably stubborn about changing things, even when it would help them out in the long run. My advice is tread lightly. If there’s anything they hate, it’s to have an outsider come in telling them they’re doin’ it all wrong, and especially a white woman. Be careful, Eliza, and I mean it.”

  “I will, Papa. I promise.”

  I told Mama I’d finish cleaning up the kitchen, and she and Papa went out to the veranda to have their coffee. As I stood at the sink washing the dinner dishes, I thought about my father’s warning. He was right. I needed to go about this slowly and patiently in order to convince Paroh, as well as his people, that an education for both sexes was a good thing. And a little gold or silver might help to convince him.

  Suddenly, the glass I was washing slipped from my hand and shattered against the enamel sink. Carefully, I picked up the shattered pieces I could see. Then I felt around in the cloudy, soapy water for any others that might be hidden and felt a sharp prick on the tip of my right index finger. Quickly withdrawing my hand, I began to suck on the drop of blood that oozed from the cut. As I stood there, waiting for the bleeding to stop, I thought about what the future might bring. If all went according to plan, I’d begin a new chapter in my life as a teacher. I was both excited and a little frightened, too, for I had learned that when it was least expected, something sharp and unseen could cut a person deeply, just like broken glass in a sink of soapy water, or a jagged reef beneath the waves.

  Chapter 6

  In a Clerk, Out a Teacher

  Sundae sidestepped a baby alligator that was heading toward the river for a swim. Quickly scanning the area to see where the mama was, I caught a glimpse of her sleeping contentedly beneath a young cabbage palm off to my left. I gave my white and dark brown-spotted horse a gentle kick with my heels, and Sundae picked up the pace slightly, while I reached back to reassure myself that my rifle was still secured behind my saddle. I figured I’d probably have enough to wrestle with at the Seminole village without having a bout with an alligator beforehand.

  Refocusing on my task, I rehearsed, for the umpteenth time, what I would say upon my arrival at the village. Hopefully, my satchel of supplies would help convince Paroh, as well as the other elders, that I was “dedicated and committed to helping their people, and that given a little time, they would see there wasn’t a blasted thing wrong with allowing the girls to learn alongside the boys.” Leave out the word ‘blasted’, I thought, and then continued with my memorized speech. “Being educated is an honorable thing,” I would tell them. “As well as a necessary thing in today’s society. And, if they wished to be respected in that society, they had to be educated.” Period. End of subject. It sounded good to me. I just hoped it would sound good to them. Especially because, as of yesterday, I was otherwise unemployed.

  The day before, I had arrived at the trading post a little after seven in the morning and found Mrs. Brickell stocking a shelf with blankets from a large box that hadn’t been among the inventory delivered earlier in the week. She’d about pulled her hair out wondering where the blue blazes it was. “Honest to the sweet Lord above,” she’d said. “If I were running the United States Postal Service, things would go a whole lot smoother.” I had no doubt that they would, but largely because no one would want to mail or ship a thing for fear of having to deal with the White Witch—my name for her.

  “Well, better late than never,” I said as I hung up my straw hat and then put on the required blue and white-striped canvas apron. “Where’d you find it?”

  “By the front door this morning with a note attached from Duke Whitehead,” she replied. “He got the box by mistake in a delivery yesterday and left it by the door last night. So, my question is: If he got my blankets, then did someone else end up with a case of bad whiskey? Man ought to be ashamed of himself. Thanks to his immoral trafficking, nearly half the men in this town go gallivanting to his den of iniquity to get a snootful. He’ll not get away with it, though. The good Lord is keeping track of all he’s doing, and in the end, he’ll be accountable for it all,” the self-righteous woman sniffed.

  “Oh, Miz Brickell, I don’t think it’s as bad as all that. My father has a drink down at Duke’s every once in a while, and he’s about as good a man as there ever was.”

  “There are always exceptions to every rule, Eliza,” she said.

  I picked up another stack of blankets and began to stock them, and as I did, my eyes caught a selection of books on a shelf down to my right; among them were a number of elementary primers. I knew a sign from Heaven when I saw one, so I dove in.

  “Mrs. Brickell, I’m going to have to cut my hours to part-time just as soon as you’re able to find someone else to fill in.”

  She stopped re-folding one of the blankets, and from the look on her face, you’d have thought I’d hauled off and slapped her.

  “And pray tell, Miss Harjo, why is that? Have offers you just can’t refuse poured in all of a sudden?”

  “Actually, Mrs. Brickell, I had two attractive offers some weeks ago, but turned them both down,” I answered, thinking about Mr. Burdine, and Mr. Cohen. Because of my unusual looks, I’d caught the eye
of the rival merchants, and each had offered me more money than the Brickells ever would if I would sell their fine merchandize in their respective stores while wearing the garments they carried. And both of the enterprising retailers wanted me to model some of their newest New York-inspired fashions at the elegant Royal Palm Hotel, as well. They’d offered me high wages to walk through the beautiful dining room during the dinner hours to give the female guests the chance to be tempted by the latest fashions. But the idea of selling and modeling clothing as my livelihood just didn’t appeal to me. Though I was flattered by the enthusiasm and high wages both retailers offered me, I wanted more out of life than that. In truth, I wanted to do something that had more meaning behind it, and was far more challenging.

  “Is that so?” she replied, squinting her eyes at me as if trying to decide whether I was trying to pull one over on her or not. “Well, what kept you from taking off for greener pastures until now?” She looked as smug as her answer was intended to be, and I could feel my temper rising.

  “Mrs. Brickell, I’m planning on becoming a teacher, and I need part of my day free in order to do that. Now, if you’d rather I just go ahead and quit altogether so that you can find someone to do a two person job on a one person paycheck, then I’ll gladly oblige.”

  The woman looked as though I’d slapped her. The truth of the matter was she was very unaccustomed to being spoken to in that way, especially by one as unimportant as a little shop clerk. “Perhaps it would be for the best, Miss Harjo, if you moved on. There are quite a few folks who would be only too happy to take over your position, and the sooner you’re off my payroll, the sooner I can employ one of those qualified applicants.”

  The woman emphasized the word, insinuating that I was unqualified. I’d had enough. I untied the apron from around my waist and hung it back on the peg. Then, grabbing a pad and pencil that were sitting on top of a barrel that we’d been using to record the inventory, I began making some quick calculations.