by Hunter Jones
“I don’t know, Maggie Marie. Their traditions are different from the white man’s and they have a way of thinking that is their own. Times were different then. People did what they did in order to survive, much the way they do now. I was raised with a group of children and we called each other brother or sister. The unspoken word – we call it a rumor today – was that my parents were killed in a raid when I was less than a year old. All I have of them is the ring that had been placed in my clothing, more than likely one of the last things one of my parents did.” He stretched out his hand and a large blue sapphire ring shimmered in the firelight.
“It’s beautiful, James. I so sorry for your loss. Do you mind sharing any more of your story?”
“I reckon there’s not much more. I don’t have many answers for you because the only woman I knew as a mother was a member of the Wolf Clan. Myself and all the other children were taught by her. The Cherokees do not believe people belong to other people; you belong to your clan and you learn their ways. That is why I am a medicine man. I understand the healing arts and can endure what is known as Snake Medicine. I respect the rights of each person to believe as they wish. Pure and simple. Every creature has a right to their own philosophy.” He removed his hat and pulled his long hair out of his face, then placed his hat on his right knee. He leaned back, resting his shoulders on a tree trunk.
“Do you speak Cherokee?”
“Yes I do. Turning to face me, James said, “Je parle aussi un peu de français. Suffit pas de faire la conversation agréable lorsque cela est nécessaire.”
“Wow. You speak Cherokee and French. You are so talented.”
Looking at me, he said, “Want to know anything further about my personal life?” His grin was different this time, more as if he was curious about what I might ask.
Leaning forward, I placed a hand on his knee. “What about…”
Putting his hat up to stop me, he clearly stated, “There are two topics of which I will never discuss with you, on account of the fact that I do not believe them to be of a concern to you. The first topic is women and the second item is the war. Those are my business and my feelings. My involvements are personal and mine alone. Do you understand me and the logic behind my thinking?”
Yes, I nodded and smiled. He could still read my mind. It was unnerving at first, but by now it was just surprising. “What do you want me to know? Will it be easier for you to answer those types of questions?” I asked.
“Yes, that will be much easier. Thank you, Maggie Marie.” He brushed a small twig from his leg and continued. “I have one member of our troupe who was recruited from a hospital in Atlanta. He was injured when he fought with a Union regiment somewhere. They had him in Chattanooga for a while, but he won’t ever be back home.” He paused and looked away, then looked at me. “He was to eventually be placed in one of those sanitariums in the Carolinas, but he’s a performer now. His name is Moz.” Even though I couldn’t recall exactly what medical condition Victorian sanatoriums were for, the look of concern on James’s face let me know this caused him much pain. I glanced downward as a sign of respect.
“Any other members of your troupe you want to tell me about?” I whispered. Somewhere in the area, I heard goats bleat and the sound of cows. Smoke from a fire wafted through the autumn air.
James moved his collar off his neck, then unbuttoned the top button of his linen shirt. A rain crow sang in the distance. “One is from Texas. No one ever hears from him until we start a loadout. He’s the one who has the trader and sales instincts, so he brings in spices from as far away as India and Arabia. We mainly use the spices for our recipe, but it’s his sales that are beginning to bring in more money as the southeast starts to grow a bit. That always helps, doesn’t it? I reckon he’s a damned rascal, but the women love him. He could sell them water and they would buy it. His name is Rhett.”
Yes, I nodded. “Do you have others you want to tell me about?”
He adjusted his shirt collar again and said, “There’s one, a black man named Frank. He was a free man before the war and lived in Europe. He moved down here looking for business opportunities about seven years ago. We met at one of my shows and we have a special relationship. He’s the main investor in my traveling show, and the only person on earth I trust completely.” He looked away momentarily, then gazed at me with a smile.
“My family are the members of the show. I ain’t never had a real family. You’ll be meeting them all. Frank, Moz, and Rhett are like my brothers. There’s three women involved. One was Rhett’s favorite whore in Nashville, during the war. Oh, and pardon my language, ma’am. She’s a waif of a woman, ghostly pale with dark hair. She dances, among other things that you don’t need to know about, with her friend named Philancie. Philancie Soulurge works as the psychic medium when we travel and that’s about all I care to know about her. I don’t trust neither of them nor do I care much for their antics, but they are entertaining and these small towns will pay a lot of money for what they have to offer, if you know what I mean. Business is business. Then, there’s a nice lady who owns a farm north of Chattanooga towards where the old Nation was situated. We all just call her Sugar. She grows and gathers a great deal of the herbs for our medicine, and she makes the brandy.”
“Brandy?” I asked.
“It’s one of our secrets: apple brandy.” Removing the flask from his jacket, he handed it to me. “Take a drink and you will know the difference.”
“I did notice something citrus and syrupy from the first drink. Your medicine tastes really good, not like a medicine at all.”
“Why, thank you for that. What else are you needing to know? One more question and we have to skedaddle,” he said.
“Your troupe sounds interesting, but what about you? Are you just a salesman?”
“Dammit. Every single time I believe you are nice, you go and say the wrong thing. I told you, I am a healer. I am the one who makes the magic happen. Of all the boys, I have the knowledge that makes the medicine work. Without that skill, you ain’t got nothing except a bunch of herbs and alcohol. Salesman. I cannot believe your audacity, woman, after me being all kind and saving your life. This here is an art form. You just wait and see.”
Taking two swigs from his flask, I tossed my head back and drank deeply. Then, flashing him my best smile, I said, “This is better than any candy or medicine. You are absolutely right. It is magic in a bottle.” To make certain he took the bait, I looked downward and then focused my eyes and gazed directly on him again.
His gentle features returned and he said, “Now that’s more of the reaction I like to see. Maybe they no longer teach manners in Atlanta, Georgia, but we still have them around these parts.”
“Do you have any maps I could look at? Maybe a map of Chattanooga or north Georgia, just something so I can get an idea of where we are?” I inquired, flashing him another grin.
“Now, Maggie Marie, you have just asked the first business-like question I have heard you utter. I do happen to have a map of Chattanooga. It is only a year or two old. I will show you where we are going to be staying before we leave out with the show. It is a beautiful new hotel on the south side.” He took a folded parchment from his jacket. “Look at this. This here is what is known as an aerial view of the city. Ain’t it beautiful? Our little city has tens of thousands of people now. We are considered the gateway to the South and that bring a plethora of opportunity. What do you think about this?”
“What’s the name of the hotel?”
“You will be luxuriating at the most elegant hotel in all of the southeast. The Stanton House. It is bringing people in from all over the world. Harpers Weekly even gave it a mention, saying that this one hotel would change the way people traveled from this day forward. Or, they used some phrase similar to that.” As he reached over to pick up the map, another photograph fell from his jacket. I saw a picture of three young women.
“Who are these girls, James?” I asked. They were beautiful and appeared to
be perfect young ladies. “They are so poised and refined.”
An expression of outrage crossed his face. “Give me that right now, Maggie Marie, and don’t never ask me a question about it again. This picture stays close to my heart at all times.” He scratched his brow with the back of his hand and pointed to the mountain that loomed to the west of us.
“We’ll discuss this at another time, if we ever discuss it. I’ll just say that their lives will be much better than mine. I have every intention to make that possible for them, no matter what it takes.” He looked away for a moment, as if hearing something far away. He eventually glanced at me, and said, “It is as I told you; a lot of people depend on me.”
“You are such a gentleman!”
“Don’t be acting so surprised. You should know that by now.” He winked as he offered me a hand and I got on my feet to stand beside him.
“Come on; it’s time to head out. Are you ready?” he asked.
“What’s the name of the street where the hotel is? That way, I’ll know where to look on your map. I’m familiar with Chattanooga. You told me, but I have already forgotten.”
“I have never in my life known a woman to ask so many questions. Here, take another drink, and let’s go.”
“But what about the politics? I’ve always heard Chattanooga was volatile following the Civil War.”
“Woman, everywhere on this earth is volatile after a war. It is our challenge to make the best of a bad situation. The Good Book tells us to love one another. That’s all. It’s that easy. We just have to accept one another because our differences are what make us strong. Those are the very things which also make us entertaining and distinctions between people can make a situation very interesting, so I have found. Besides, if we were all the same, it would be a dull old world, wouldn’t it?” Placing his hat on his head, he said, “You got any more questions? It’s time we hit the road.”
He tossed back his mane of hair and placed his hat on his head. “It’s time to ride. Pull your hat down so that no one will ever know that you are a woman and please button your jacket all the way to the collar.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Well, there are a few reasons, the main one being that the Gatewood Gang has been raiding on LaFayette Road, and that is where we are at this time. The second reason being that you are a female.” One eyebrow was cocked as he looked at me. “Do you need to know the third reason?”
“No, not really,” I replied, feeling my hands shake. These ruffians must be hardcore if James is concerned.
“Can you shoot a gun?” he asked.
“Yes, yes I can, but not very well.”
“Good thing. Just wait until they get so close you can’t miss them, then shoot.” He handed me a pistol. “This is for you. The weapon is loaded and prepared for firing. Once they get near you, get that thing out and be ready to fire. There ain’t no small talk with these boys. Do I make myself understood?”
I shook my head “yes.”
“All right, then. Let’s commence toward Chattanooga. One thing; they will shoot me first, and they will kill me. If that does happen and if there are seven of them, keep in mind that you only have six bullets. It is my recommendation that you take the last bullet and met your Maker. Such an action will be easier than the hell on earth they will put you through. The Good Lord above will understand, I do believe.”
He handed the pistol to me and my hands shook from fear. I probably will shoot myself before anyone else could, if the truth be known. I tucked the pistol into my jacket pocket as my mind comprehended the danger that surrounded James and me.
“Is this gang after you?” I whispered.
He gave me a look that could melt ice cream, crossed his arms, and said, “Once, these were good men, honest men. A war does something to a person’s mind, which we may never fully comprehend. Somehow, these men have changed profoundly. Men who were once decent citizens have become lawless marauders. No agenda is followed except for the one of their own making, nor do they commit to any cause or creed. They are after anyone who they believe has any item or possession of value. They have also been known to terrorize those who they feel have betrayed one of them. A man was shot point blank, between the eyes, in his own home. There was a knock on the door one night, he opened the door, and he was shot. This event happened simply because they heard he had business dealings they did not appreciate. Me? I deal with the various businessmen and men of industry who have moved into the area and the Tennessee Valley region. They do not like that fact and they do not appreciate that I am now a man of means and wealth due to my professional arrangements. If they find me traveling alone, they know the money, herbs, and spices I carry will bring them in some easy cash. Human life is worthless to them if money can be gained by any means. Except hard work, of course.”
James rubbed the nose of Ash and patted the horse’s neck. He handed me a very small green apple, which I placed in a jacket pocket. “Now, this is the part where it’s gonna get interesting,” he said as he mounted Ash. “C’mon; surely you can ride on the back of a horse.”
“I...uhh…I don’t know.” I looked into his eyes and wondered if he was the craziest man I had ever met or the most exciting. Either way, he wasn’t dull. The ease of communication and conversation between us made me forget how incredibly beautiful he was and made me feel entirely at ease with him. He made me feel safe.
His arm reached for me and pulled me to the back of the long saddle. “Take the cap off,” he said.
“Why? You wanted me wearing it a minute ago. What are we doing?” He removed a belt or leather rope, which had been tethered to the saddle.
“Are you comfortable for the ride?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve changed my mind. Instead of saying you are a man, we are gonna say that you are my wife and I found you in Chickamauga. You will not say one word on account of your accent and all of your various confusions, delusions, whatever you wish to call your maladies.”
“Why are we doing this? Can you just explain it to me? What are you going to do with the leather tie? Why would you tell someone you found me, even if it is the truth?”
James looked at me with those pale blue eyes, which lingered on as if he was thinking about what I said. He then said, “We are doing this on account of the fact that if we get stopped, the renegades will believe that you have nothing, and they will move on.”
“Why would they think I have nothing?”
“Because, Great Asker of Questions, this is what Cherokee women do. They share their blanket. I’ll explain the concept when we have a bit more time for discussion and when we find ourselves in circumstances much more conducive to conversation and the like. For the sake of simplicity, here is all the information you need to know for the time being. A woman decides a man can provide for her and she takes only her blanket and she goes with him, wherever he goes.”
“And the leather, what’s it for?” I asked.
“The leather is to keep you tied to me so that you don’t fall off the horse if we begin a gallop. It is called a strap.” He circled us with the belt-type leather piece and knotted it. “See, we’re ready to ride now. Look at the map if you can. It will give you an idea of Chattanooga and how the city looks. The lay of the land is what we call it.”
With a double click, Ash took off at a trot. Looking back over his shoulder toward me, James said, “You can put your arms around my waist or hold on to my belt if it makes you feel safe, Maggie Marie.” The shadow of a hawk crossed our path as the horse began to trot across the old rock bridge. We turned north to Chattanooga and the horse hastened its gait, beginning to run faster, as if it was on familiar territory. The thought of arriving at the hotel and having a proper bath and bed for a few nights was more inviting than I anticipated.
Chapter 11
As we rode, the sun flickered through the trees. There was a rhythm to the horse’s pace and I fell into the pattern of the gait. It was a beautiful autumn day, crisp and cool
with a promise of harvest and dreams coming true. The road was filled with farmers driving their stock into town to sell at market. A few wagons were about, filled with goods and supplies. People walked in their tattered clothing. There were a few horses, but not many, and no one else on the road had a woman tied to him except James. The thought made me smile. We sat into a comfortable pace and, after a few minutes, I took the map from my jacket. I could see that the city was built on parallels that ran from the Tennessee River almost to the Georgia state line.
The silhouette of Lookout Mountain sat like the all-seeing sphinx above Chattanooga, the city and the region. Further to the west, I saw the river gorge and Signal Mountain. The Tennessee Valley was so beautiful, it was understandable that the Cherokees cried when they were taken from this place. Their journey westward became known as the Trail of Tears from what I remembered from history classes during my undergrad days. James said we would be staying at the Stanton House until we left in a few days. The way he explained the hotel it was close to the depots, so that must have made the load out of the wagons easy for his shows.
“James, why were you in Chickamauga?”
“There are two older ladies, one of Cherokee heritage and the other of Creek blood, who supply me with a few of the herbs needed for the elixir. Does that answer satisfy your curiosity?”
Giggling, I said, “Yes, it does for a minute.” The breeze flowed through my hair and I couldn’t remember a more pleasant horseback ride, even though I was strapped to the rider. It made this adventure even more exciting to me. James’s hair tickled my face and I gathered it into a single ponytail, then tucked it inside the back of his shirt. This made him laugh and he spurred the horse to run faster. We passed the other travelers and appeared to have the road to ourselves. The freedom of the morning sun on my skin and the rocking motion of our ride lulled me into a sense of comfort and peace.
“We are approaching McFarland Gap, so do not get overly relaxed back there, woman. There’s a tavern that sells cheap liquor at the crossroads, so we may run into some trouble before we hit the Tennessee state line.”