Should she go? Should she herself take that march, take it despite all Will might do?
She knew there were Cherokees who thought they should—that if they were forced to go, all should go. Others were already talking of taking to the remote hills, fighting it out there and dying rather than leave. She had no taste for that life either.
Yet Chief Ross still hoped there would be a chance, despite the growing pressures and the orders from Washington. He would return there soon in a last attempt to get Van Buren to allow them to remain. But even if he succeeded, there would be trouble if they stayed, for already many of the Georgians had come into the Cherokee Nation, had burned homes, looted crops, even driven off cattle the Cherokees had hoped to take west. Others had been robbed on the road west, robbed in Alabama and in Tennessee by bands that had followed the march from Georgia.
Let them go. She would stay. Will would arrange that. They would keep Brignole; after all, they had a Scottish name and a well-known ancestor. They could stay on. She would marry Will, and in a few years this would all be forgotten.
She bathed, dressed quickly, and went down the stairs. Her father had just seated himself at breakfast, and he looked up with a smile. She was suddenly aware those smiles were all too rare these days.
“Laura! You’re up early.”
“I could not sleep.”
He nodded. “Few of us can, these days.”
“What does Uncle John think?”
“He’s going to try again. He never gives up, that man. I don’t know what we could have done without him. He has given most of his life to the Cherokee Nation, and few people appreciate it.”
She paused. “Father…what do you think of Will?”
He chuckled. “What does it matter? When a man has a headstrong daughter and she decides what man she wants, what can a mere father do?”
“Do you like him?”
John McCrae hesitated. Will Rounce had been a guest in their home many times. The fact that they were so far unmolested was due entirely to the fact that Will stood between them and potential depredations. He was a strong and capable man with excellent connections. He was very close to the military command, and even closer to the governor. That he had influence in Washington was undoubted. Chief Ross frankly admitted that doors closed to him had opened as a result of Will’s influence…not that it had done Ross much good. But then, nothing much did, nowadays.
“Yes,” he said after a minute, “I like him.”
Even as he said it, he had a disturbing thought that maybe he did not like Will Rounce….But if he did not, why should he dislike him? Certainly Will had been a good friend, and he was an affable, agreeable companion.
“He’s a very able man,” he added. “I think Will Rounce will go far. I should not be surprised to see him a United States senator one of these days.”
“Not if he befriends the Cherokee much longer.” Laura realized suddenly that she had never considered it in that light. “We may be the cause of him making enemies.”
McCrae smiled. “Not us. I know we consider ourselves Cherokee, but I doubt many others do. Not in Washington, anyway.”
James came down the steps and joined them at breakfast. He was still excited over the events of the evening before. “He was so calm,” he told his father. “I never saw a man like him. He was calm, yet he seemed perfectly sure of himself, as though it were something that had happened many times before and he knew just how it would go.”
“He’s a soldier. John tells me he made a fine name for himself in the Black Hawk War, and that he’s been into the far west.”
“Fighting Indians,” Laura said.
Her father looked up. “Yes, Indians,” he said. “If we go west we may have to fight them ourselves.”
They were silent. The thought of going west hung heavily above them all. So many had been forced to go, and now the threat faced them every morning when they awakened; yet despite the number who had already gone, the idea that they, too, might go was unreal to them. Angus had been the first McCrae to cross the ocean to the New World, and this had been the only McCrae home since the day he had first come upon the knoll where the house stood.
True, members of the McCrae family had gone out to other parts of the Cherokee Nation and established places of their own, but to them all, Brignole was home. It had been named for the ship Angus McCrae’s father had long sailed in trade to the West Indies.
McCrae looked up. “James…I wish you would not go to Atlanta this week. You may be needed here.”
“You think there might be trouble?”
“I hope not. But stay here.”
Laura went to the door again, and stood looking down the road. Will was still asleep in the guest’s quarters, and she wanted to talk to him. She was becoming frightened, more frightened than she had ever been, and it was because her father was worried. Only Will could protect them; he had constantly assured them there was nothing to be concerned about.
Only a few weeks before, her father had suggested they might still sell out for a good price, but Will had laughed at the thought, and they had wanted to be reassured. Sell Brignole? It was unthinkable…but suppose they lost everything?
It was then, and for no reason, that she remembered what Miles Tolan had said. That he might have been Will’s best friend, but Will was not his best friend.
What had he meant? She felt the remark was somehow disparaging of Will, and was nettled by it. Yet as she turned back inside the house the remark stayed with her, irritating and troublesome…like a burr under the saddle.
CHAPTER 5
Colonel Lorin White stood with his feet solidly apart, his fists resting on his wide hips. His round, fat face was set in hard lines. “Lieutenant Tolan”—his voice was high, but its tone showed his peevish anger—“you are not a Moravian missionary, but an officer of the Army of the United States sent here for escort duty! Your orders give you no right to interfere with private citizens going about their legitimate business!”
“General Scott’s orders were—”
“He placed you under my orders! I will tolerate no interference with civilians! You are to escort a group of Indians that I shall designate, and nothing more!”
“Am I to understand rape and murder are licensed by this command?”
White’s face stiffened; he took a step away from the window and his voice lowered. “Lieutenant, I will not tolerate impudence from you. I have given you your orders. You are to take what men you need and ride through the backcountry and make a thorough search for all Indians that may be hiding out. These Indians are to be brought in to the camps and to be held until they can be taken west.
“You will observe there is nothing in those orders that will allow you to interfere with civilians in any way. You are especially to refrain from interfering with Mr. Hallett.”
“Or Wilson Rounce?”
Colonel White came around his desk. “I did not mention that name. Nor is it to be mentioned.”
Miles relaxed a little. “But Mr. Rounce is an old friend. I might say, a very old friend.”
White stared at him doubtfully. “I did not understand that you knew him.”
“I know him very well.” Pleased that White was no longer so sure of himself, Tolan gathered his gloves and turned to go. “I know him well enough to know that those associated with him usually find themselves in trouble…but Will Rounce gets off scot-free.”
“That is none of your business,” White said firmly. “You will follow your orders.”
Miles Tolan walked outside and stopped on the steps of the building. Inwardly, he was furious. Obviously, White was playing it cozy with the local politicians, and certainly Will had wasted no time in demonstrating his influence.
Well…they were right, of course. It was none of his business. A law had been passed and a treaty signed, and it was not his position to ask questions, but only to obey. Yet Will Rounce’s position here intrigued him, and whatever else might happen Miles knew very well tha
t he was not through with Will. There was that in Will that would never leave well enough alone.
It had begun long ago, in Pennsylvania. Miles Tolan had been five years old when he fell under the supervision of Elias Rounce of Rounceville, and despite his mixed feelings for Will, Miles could never feel anything but affection and respect for that stern, just, and eccentric man who for twelve years had been guardian, foster father, and mentor to him.
He had never been addressed by any name other than “Mister Elias.” He ruled his household as he ruled his varied businesses, with a firm hand. Never in his presence did anyone laugh or speak loudly, nor did anyone who worked for him ever idle at a task. Not only would such a man have been dismissed at once, but he would have found it difficult to find work of any other kind in the community. Despite this, Elias Rounce was a man not only feared, but admired by many and respected by all.
His family were reported to have been fisherfolk, although it was rumored there had been shipbuilders among them too. He rarely spoke of himself, and Miles could recall only three occasions when he had made any reference to his past.
It was Mister Elias’s firm belief that education was for the purpose of building character. He did not believe in the way schools were traditionally managed; he maintained his own school for his grandchildren and for the children of a few of his immediate associates. Their teacher was a man imported for the purpose by Mister Elias.
Phineas Cronkite was tall, almost as tall as Mister Elias, who himself stood six feet and four inches in his size-fourteen boots. Whereas Mister Elias was a solid man of broad chest and shoulders, Phineas Cronkite was lean, hollow-cheeked, and sparse of hair. His skull was long rather than broad like Mister Elias’s, and what little hair he did possess was thin and pale. His nose was long and busy as a ferret’s while his thin lips were tightly compressed, as though he feared to say something extraordinary.
Phineas Cronkite, who was the only teacher Miles could remember, possessed an amazing fund of knowledge on a peculiar variety of subjects, but Miles had never been able to discover where or how he had come by such knowledge or the skills he had at hand.
When he instructed his few students he did so in a dry monotone that yet held some strange quality of fascination, for Miles could never recall finding him either dull or uninteresting. Somehow, the moment he began to speak one’s attention was captured, and from that instant no one in class ever thought of anything else.
His instruction would have been considered radically unorthodox in any other school, but Miles did not believe that Phineas saw it in that light at all, or even gave any serious thought to the opinions of others.
Miles would never forget those classes. There were six students, ranging in age from ten to fifteen during the years Miles remembered them best. Phineas would look past them with his yellow eyes and begin to talk, and from that moment their attention was captured. Yet looking back, Miles could never remember Phineas showing excitement, pleasure, or sadness.
No matter what he taught, his manner remained the same. He instructed them in cheating at cards with the same dry, empty-faced manner in which he taught the Psalms, and he taught them how to kill a man with a knife in exactly the manner in which he instructed them in Thucydides. If he was able to distinguish one pupil from another, Miles could recall no indication of it.
Mister Elias was a successful man. It was impossible that he could have been anything else, being the sort of man he was. Miles never knew all the details of Mister Elias’s business, but Rounceville was Mister Elias, and vice versa. He owned and operated the tannery, blacksmith shop, carriage shop, and a gunsmithy. He operated a provision store, and employed cobblers, tailors, and dressmakers. Rounceville was an economy complete in itself.
Yet all this was but a small part of his business, for Mister Elias bought things. It was said of him that Elias Rounce would buy anything, and it was also noted that he sold everything he bought, and invariably at a substantial profit. If no profit was immediately available, he waited. As a result there were warehouses of amazing odds and ends, through which Miles and the others had rummaged and searched for things to excite their interest or with which to play.
Mister Elias’s orders were that each child was to be out of bed at four a.m. and after a cold bath to breakfast at four-thirty. They were to be employed by five o’clock. Each Saturday morning the boys were called to the desk by Phineas and each was given a rifle and six loads of powder and ball. By sundown they were expected to report to him with at least five rabbits, squirrels, or game birds.
On this day the boys were not allowed to carry a lunch, so if they ate at all, it must be from food found in the forest or fields. These rules were laid down by Mister Elias and given to Phineas Cronkite for our instruction, and remarkable as it might seem, Miles could not recall that after the first few months any of them ever went hungry.
Once each month Mister Elias would receive each of the students alone in his study, and at that time questioned them on topics connected with their work, study, or hunting. Each of them might be called upon to speak extemporaneously upon a topic selected by him from their field of activities. These meetings with Mister Elias began when they were ten and proceeded, with rare interruptions, until they were freed from their education.
Never during the twelve years at Rounceville could Miles recall any evidence of favoritism, despite the fact that two of the students were his own grandsons and one a granddaughter. Mister Elias had been strict with them all, yet perceptive of their individual traits, attributes, and talents. Later, Miles realized Mister Elias knew more of their faults than he had suspected, and that he was prepared to deal with them.
When Miles was sixteen Mister Elias came to the room where Phineas held class and placed on the desk before Phineas a volume of Blackstone. “Miles Tolan will read this,” he said, “and he will report to me after examination by you. Every man should know the rudiments of law.”
At intervals, following Miles’ fourteenth birthday he was given a horse, a small wagon, and a load, usually not large, of trade goods. With this he was expected to go out and trade, and he was expected to show a profit; if such a profit did appear it was put into Miles’ account in Mister Elias’s bank. It was the same for each of the boys.
At the trading he had been moderately successful, but never so successful as Will, who had concluded some rather fabulous deals.
All that had ended rather suddenly when Miles was seventeen.
On the morning that Mister Elias sent for him, Miles had been surprised, because during the year that had just passed these visits had grown increasingly less frequent. Mister Elias was seated behind his huge desk, and he had surprised Miles still more by suggesting he be seated. Mister Elias not only kept most standing at attention during their recitations and examinations, but he would tolerate nothing slovenly nor lacking in respect in his charges’ conduct.
He had been occupied with some figures when Miles entered, and seated in the high-backed chair, Miles watched him. How old he was Miles had never known, but at the time he must have been nearing seventy, although still a powerful man, physically active and showing no more evidence of the passing years than a huge old oak tree. His square-cut beard was streaked with gray, but so it had been when Miles first saw him, and his face seemed unchanged.
Mister Elias looked up suddenly. “Miles, you are no relation of mine.”
Of this Miles was aware, but he sat awaiting what might follow, and his curiosity was keen.
“When I die I shall leave you nothing, nor do I believe you have expected it, so the time has come for you to act for yourself.
“I have never felt that advice was important. Men of my years are far too ready with their advice, and it is rarely worth the bother. All too rarely they have thought out the advice they offer, and the further you go in life the more you will realize that few people think. They follow lines of least resistance or take advantage of opportunities that occur. If you think, Miles, the world can
be yours.”
He paused. “I now have something to say to you that I know you will not repeat. I have observed you carefully, and have found many qualities in you to admire, and one of them is that you invariably keep your own counsel. I like this, and I know there are many things you might have discussed of which you have said nothing.
“I want you to leave here, Miles, and I want you to go far away. I ask you to do this because one of the things I have observed is the unhealthy rivalry that has developed between you and Will.
“No.” Mister Elias lifted a hand. “Do not explain or protest. I know the rivalry is mostly on Will’s side. Will is a boy who has to win—he cannot take second place, and will not. You are aware of this, and in a number of cases you have deliberately allowed him to win because, I believe, you feel you owe a debt to me.”
Miles started to object.
“Please! I have thought this out, and I know the character of each of you. You have no reluctance to let Will win because winning is important to you only when the issue is itself important. Regardless of that, Will has lately taken a new course. For some reason, through some insecurity I cannot fathom, competing with you and winning has become more important to him than anything else in the world.
“During these past few years he has lied, cheated, and stolen. His ‘successful’ trading was not successful, Miles. He was selling his goods and then stealing because of his need to be absolutely sure he bested you.
“I want you to go away, Miles. Go far from here, and stay away from Will if you can possibly do so. Will has great ability, but you have qualities he will never have. You have character and you have persistence. If you remain in the same area, sooner or later a time will come when an issue or a woman would become so important to you that you would not allow him to win. I fear then that he would try to kill you. He would try; whether he could succeed or not I have no idea…but whatever the result, it would be disastrous.
“I am not a foolish old man, Miles. There is something lacking in my grandson, some moral sense that I have been unable to provide. I have watched you both grow, and I could wish, Miles, that you were my grandson. I would admit that to no one else. I am proud of you, and wherever you go, I know you will survive and you will achieve whatever it is you wish to achieve.”
Volume 1: Unfinished Manuscripts, Mysterious Stories, and Lost Notes from One of the World's Most Popular Novelists Page 10