He grinned, kissing her hair. “My sister Mary is sixteen and Grace is twenty and married to Red Wolf. My brother, Peter, is eighteen. They are all Christian, like my Cherokee mother, who gave all of them their Christian names.”
“Are you Christian, too?”
He sighed deeply, rubbing absently at her shoulder. “I am pretty much like my father, Gray Bear. I believe there is one God who rules the universe. Christians call Him the Christ. I call him Esaugetuk Emissee, Maker of Breath. The teachings of the missionaries who came to us were not so different from what we already believed, and the way the Unega conducts his life, I see very little Christianity sometimes in those who say they are Christian. At least the Cherokee practice what they believe. There are times when I wish I were not white at all.”
“What is Unega?”
“White man.”
She thought for a moment. “I don’t know much about God and Christianity and all those things. Mrs. Breckenridge taught me some, and sometimes I close my eyes and I pray real hard to God. Since being with you I think of Him as the Maker of Breath, like you call Him. I think you’re right. I think everybody has the same God. They just call Him by different names.” She turned slightly, kissing his shoulder. “You really think of Mary and Grace and the others as your family, don’t you?”
“They are all I remember. I have just a faint memory of my white parents, and I only remember my mother’s voice when she was screaming, when those river pirates raped her.”
She felt his grip tighten around her.
“Is that why you got so angry at Hank when he attacked me?”
He was quiet for several seconds. “Partly. And partly just because I wanted you myself. I knew you were a good person and he had no right hurting you.”
“Did you cry, River—when the Cherokee found you and took you away, and you knew your parents were dead?”
He sighed deeply. “I no longer remember. All I know is Lily Gray Bear took me in and raised me, and then Grace and Mary and Peter were born and they were like brother and sisters. I learned to read and write from missionaries. By the time they came I had forgotten much of what I already knew, and wasn’t even speaking English anymore. They tried to take me away from Lily once, but I put up such a fuss that they let me stay.”
He rolled onto his back and stretched. “There have certainly been many times since to shed tears. I felt a great loss when Lily died of cholera… and then just a few days later Yellow Sky died.” His voice dwindled. “No one avoids tears in such moments, not even grown men.”
He lay there quietly for a long time, and she turned and lay snuggled into his shoulder. How she loved this man who was capable of feelings, capable of weeping when he mourned. At the moment she too felt like crying.
“Do you love me the same, River? Would you cry over me?”
He squeezed her closer, fingering her golden tresses with his other hand. “Oh, yes, Agiya, I would weep for you. I never want to feel that kind of loss again. You have no idea what went through my mind when I heard that gunshot when you killed that boar.”
An owl hooted somewhere nearby, and she realized how frightened she would be if she were alone. But when lying next to River, she felt no fear. A campfire burned nearby, and occasionally the direction of the breeze would change and she would get a whiff of smoke.
“I wonder if the Jasmine has been found, River.”
“I am sure it has by now.”
Another moment of silence passed, and she felt his hold tighten again. Yes, he was worried, too. He just didn’t want to talk about it.
“I hope Luke is dead. And Tommy, too. Do you think it’s bad to wish somebody dead?”
“No,” he answered firmly. “They were evil. Do not feel bad about their deaths, any more than I feel bad about killing Hank Toole. He deserved to die.”
“I know. But if they figure it out, the authorities won’t think that way.”
“I do not care what they think. Besides, we will not be found where we are going, at least not right away. I have to get these supplies to my family. Then we will decide what to do. If it looks like there is going to be trouble, we will leave.”
“But where would we go?”
“I do not know yet. Indian Territory, maybe. Maybe that new land called Texas where the Mexicans are allowing Americans to settle.”
“Texas? I never heard of Texas.”
“The Cherokee have. Some have already gone there and to Indian Territory. They know that eventually there will be big trouble here. Those who do not leave voluntarily will have a hard time of it if they are forced out. They know how bad the white men can be.”
“Why don’t they all just go then?”
He sighed deeply, toying with her hair again. “That is where you have to let go of your white spirit and think like a Cherokee, Emma. The whites do not understand what this land means to my people. This land is their mother. You do not desert your mother. This land is sacred, and these mountains have been home to them for hundreds of years, maybe thousands. The Maker of Breath meant for the Cherokee to live in this land, not the white man. Most of them will fight to the death for it, only through John Ross they are carrying on that war through the courts. The only trouble is there probably will be death anyway. There already has been—at the hands of raiders. But there will be more if the Cherokee are forced out of this land. It will be a sad journey.”
He turned over and kissed her cheek. “Egasinee, Agiya,” he said, telling her to go to sleep. “We have a long ride tomorrow.”
She kissed his chest. “I don’t ever want to be away from you, River. I would be so afraid if I weren’t with you. I hope I never have to go back to the world I came from.”
“You will not go back. And you will not be without me. Life will be good now.”
She settled against him, quickly falling asleep, for she never doubted that she was safe in his arms.
People stared as four men rode into Knoxville with a Negro walking behind them, his hands tied behind his back and ropes tied around his waist.
“Must be a runaway,” came the low voices.
“Hey, isn’t that Jim Jackson?” someone said. “Maybe he killed Hank Toole.”
Tommy slowed his horse and turned it, riding up to the man who had made the remark. “What did you say, mister?”
The man removed his hat. “Isn’t that Jim Jackson, Hank Toole’s man?”
“Sure is. Did you say Hank Toole’s been murdered?”
The man nodded. “That’s the rumor we heard. Most folks here in Knoxville knew Hank.” The man looked over at Jim, who looked petrified at the words. “Course, we all knew Jim, too. I can’t believe he’d kill Hank—seemed like a good man to me.”
“There ain’t no such thing as a good black man or a good Indian,” Tommy sneered. He looked over at Jim victoriously, then back at the man with whom he had spoken. “Them other men over there found Jackson tryin’ to run away. We didn’t know till now whether Hank Toole was alive or dead for sure. Jim said he was drowned in the flood.”
“Well, the way we heard it, the Jasmine was wrecked, all right. But when they found Hank’s body, they determined someone had stabbed him to death—a pretty big wound in the chest. There were scratches on his face and he didn’t have on any clothes.”
Tommy’s eyes lit up even more. “Scratches? Like the kind a woman would give a man who was tryin’ to attack her?”
The man shrugged. “I don’t know. Why don’t you go talk to Sam Gates? Hank did a lot of work for the man. Sam owns a big supply store here in Knoxville, as well as a coal mine farther up in the mountains. You can usually find him over at the Tennessee Belle. He owns that, too. It’s right up the street. You can see the sign from here. The sheriff has been talkin’ to Sam about this whole thing.” He looked over at Jim and shook his head. “Too bad. I reckon a man doesn’t know who to trust anymore.”
Tommy nodded to him and rode back to the others. “You he
ar that? I told you that man did it! And I told you there was a girl on that boat!”
Herman Bates sagged a little in defeat. “Well, we’ve got one question answered. Let’s go talk to this Sam Gates.”
Tommy looked back at Jim, grinning broadly. “I wouldn’t doubt if your neck got stretched by tonight,” he sneered. “You shouldn’t have lied.”
“But I… I didn’t! I didn’t know about no girl. And I didn’t kill Mastuh Hank, I swear!”
Tommy just shook his head and turned his horse. “Let’s go.” They headed for the Tennessee Belle, as a few more people gathered and stared at Jim, who almost had to run to keep up. He looked worn and hungry as he staggered behind the four men down the dusty street dotted with horse dung.
Tommy took a good look around as they headed for the Belle. He had never been to a place as big as Knoxville. The town was a mixture of log buildings, a fort, and frame houses, some of them quite grand. To a young man from the mountains, this was an exciting place to be. Never had he seen so many people in one spot, or so many stores and liveries and churches and saloons. The town would be even more fun if he and the others got some money for returning Jim Jackson; he was already sure he didn’t want to leave.
They approached the Tennessee Belle, a whitewashed building in good repair.
“Don’t forget—we found him,” Bates said as they dismounted and tied their horses.
“Well, if it wasn’t for me and Deek, you wouldn’t have known about Hank Toole and Sam Gates and all—or that a girl was along on that boat,” Tommy answered. “We deserve a fair share of the reward, if there is one.”
“I just want to get this over with and get home,” John Williams grumbled.
“Home? Who would want to leave this place?” Deek asked.
“I would,” Williams answered.
Tommy and Deek laughed, walking back to Jim and untying the ropes around his waist. “You’ve got some explainin’ to do now,” Tommy warned. “You better think about tellin’ the truth now.” He gave Jim a shove and the man half-stumbled up the wooden steps and onto the boardwalk. Tommy shoved him again as they all entered the saloon. Men sitting around card tables stared, and pretty women dressed in brightly colored taffeta and silk dresses whispered among themselves.
“We want to see Sam Gates,” Tommy said haughtily. “We got somethin’ for him.”
One of the women looked at Jim disdainfully. “Get that man out of here, kid,” she sneered. “Sam doesn’t allow black man in here.”
“He’ll allow this one. You tell him we’ve got Hank Toole’s nigger here—caught him up in the mountains tryin’ to run away.”
The woman sauntered to a door at the back of the bar-room. Tommy watched the sway of her hips, then moved his eyes to drink in the beauty of the others, already deciding this was the place to be. How he wished Emma Simms were here, but now there was the question of what had happened to her. Jim knew, and, by God, he would tell.
Jim stood near tears, his mind scrambling to think of what to say as a well-dressed man of perhaps his late forties emerged from the back room. His suit was perfectly cut; his vest and the scarf at his neck were silk. He was handsome for his age, with a neat mustache and dark brown eyes. He stuck his thumbs into the pockets of his vest as he approached, pushing back his suit jacket and revealing a gold watch. His black boots were spotless, and he eyed the four men with Jim warily, with the eyes of a man who had a lot of experience in dealing with people. Already he seemed to be measuring the worth of the men who had come to see him. He stepped up to Tommy, studying the bright red hair and the cold blue eyes.
His eyes moved then to the other three, and the air of importance about him kept them speechless, waiting for him to say the first word. The dark eyes moved then to Jim, looking the Negro up and down; then he stepped closer to the man and the room grew quiet with expectancy.
The rumor of Hank Toole’s death had already spread through town, and many had been speculating on what could have happened. Sam Gates himself had wondered, especially about the young girl who was supposed to be with Hank on his return trip, the young girl for whom he had paid two hundred dollars.
“Well, Jim. At last we find someone who can help answer all our questions,” Gates said then.
A tear trickled down Jim’s cheek. He knew Sam Gates could be a cruel man, but he wanted to protect Emma Simms. “Mastuh Sam, I don’t got no answers. All’s I know is they was a bad flood. We was alone on that boat, I swear. The flood come, and I was washed right off the Jasmine, and I never knowed what happened to Mastuh Hank. I supposed he done drowned when the Jasmine broke up.” The man sniffed. “I run on account of I didn’t know what to do, where to go. I was scairt, Mastuh Sam, that’s all. But these men, they done brought me back here, and I’ll be glad to be you nigguh, Mastuh Sam, on account of I don’t got no mastuh now. These men, they is expectin’ a reward for bringin’ me back.”
Gates turned back to the four white men. “I am Sam Gates, as I am sure you have guessed by now. May I have your names?”
“I’m Tommy Decker, from the MacBain settlement up the Hiwassee,” Tommy answered quickly, pride in his voice. “This here is my friend, Deek Malone.”
Deek removed his hat, nodding his shaggy head. Sam Gates forced a vague smile and looked at the other two.
“I’m Herman Bates, and this is a friend of mine, John Williams. We’re from Summersville. The heavy rains wiped us out. Then we found the Jim Jackson there sleepin’ in the woods. We was gonna take him to a couple of plantations, see if they knew who he was. Then we run into these two young men here who said they knew him. They verified Jim’s story that he worked for a Hank Toole on a steamboat. But we aren’t too sure Jim is tellin’ the truth about what happened to this Hank Toole. On our way through town we talked to a man who said Hank Toole was found murdered, not drowned. That true?”
Sam Gates turned and looked at Jim again. “It’s true.”
“Mr. Gates, there was supposed to be a white girl with Hank,” Tommy put in eagerly. “Emma Simms. I knew her. My pa said Hank was pickin’ her up on his return trip, which would have been before the Jasmine was wrecked. We’ve already been past her pa’s farm and it’s wiped out. We found Luke Simms’s dead body but no sign of the girl. I think she was with Hank, but nobody has mentioned her, and Jim here says she wasn’t on that boat. I think he’s lyin’, Mr. Gates. I think he raped that girl and maybe drowned her himself. She was a right pretty girl.”
“No! No, I swear I didn’t do that, Mastuh Gates!” Jim answered, his eyes pleading.
“It all makes sense, Mr. Gates,” Tommy added. “They said Hank was found with scratches on him and no clothes on. My guess is he was havin’ at it with the girl and she was fightin’ him. Nigger Jim come upon them and got all excited seein’ Hank layin’ with a pretty white girl, so he killed Hank and finished the job himself, then drowned the girl. After a flood, bodies are hard to find. She’s probably stuck in a tree someplace.”
Sam Gates walked back to Jim, studying the man with cunning, perceptive eyes. “That true, Jim? You’re already in trouble. You might as well tell us.”
“No, suh. It ain’t true.”
“Hang him!” one of the men at the tables shouted. “If he messed with a white girl he ought to hang high, with no trial!”
“Cut off his privates first!” another put in.
Jim shook visibly as Sam Gates turned to the men in the room, putting up his hands. “Now, now, boys, we don’t know if it’s true Hank had a girl with him. But we do know Hank was found murdered, and this man was found trying to run away. All of you enjoy yourselves. I’ll take Jim back to my office and call for the sheriff. We’ll get this straightened out.”
Gates turned to Tommy and the others. “Come into my office and bring Jim.” He turned and walked ahead of them. The others followed, and Tommy grabbed Jim’s arm and gave him a shove. Gates gave the piano player a signal and the man started clumping away on the
keys again, picking up the mood in the room and distracting the customers from what was going on.
Men returned to drinking and cardplaying as Gates led the others through a door into a hallway, then through another door into a large office that contained a huge oak desk and red leather chairs. The men remained standing as Gates closed the door, then walked up close to Jim, his dark eyes showing his annoyance.
“Where is the girl, Jim?” he demanded, his voice calm but cold. “I know myself that Hank was picking her up. I paid good money for her and I want to know what happened to her. Did you get a yen for that white girl?”
“No! I done told you and told you. Hank didn’t pick up no girl!”
Gates’s face darkened with anger. He walked back to the door and called out to someone, and moments later a huge, well-built man came inside.
“Take this man to the shed out back, Stu. I want to know what happened to Emma Simms.”
The man called Stu nodded, walking up to Jim and pulling at his arm.
“No! Wait, Mastuh Sam! Don’t take me out there!”
“We’ve got to have the truth, Jim,” Sam said, turning away and telling Stu to have drinks sent in for the four men who had brought Jim to town.
Tommy and the others stared as Jim was dragged outside. Moments later an auburn-haired young woman with painted green eyes brought in a tray of glasses filled with whiskey. Everyone in the room stared at her billowing breasts as she served the drinks with a fetching smile.
“Thank you, Joanna, honey,” Gates said.
Joanna smiled at the man and left. Tommy sipped the whiskey, noticing how smoothly it went down his throat. He had never tasted such good whiskey.
“I will pay all of you well,” Sam said. “Jim is an important link to what happened. I believe you about the girl. I bought her myself.” He looked slyly from one to the other. “To wait on tables and such.”
Tommy grinned. “Sure. We know.”
“No. You don’t know anything,” Sam replied, glaring at him warningly. He stepped closer. “Most men in town know what goes on here, Mr. Decker. It’s accepted. But few of them know, including the sheriff, that I buy and sell women, like slaves. That could get me in a bit of trouble.” He watched them all closely. “You men know now because of what just happened.” He moved his dark eyes to Tommy again. “Since you knew this Emma Simms, you probably know that not all the women I purchase are exactly… willing.”
Tennessee Bride Page 18