Heart's Surrender

by Rosanne Bittner

  She hurried to the kitchen then, where her mother was basting a large turkey.

  “Is the table ready, Mother?”

  “I think so. Go and check the silverware, Andy.” Her mother was a quiet woman, who gave orders that were not questioned. Andrea had always wished she could talk to her more, especially about boys. But there was a sternness about the religious woman that forbade the mention of such things. Andrea was her only child, and, therefore, was expected to be perfect. She felt the pressure of it, tried hard to be good, but lately she had found herself wondering if her mother truly could not have children or if the woman had simply decided that once Andrea was born she would not submit to the indignation of letting her husband bed her again. Mary Means had whispered to her once that she had heard her own mother talking with Andrea’s once, and both women had talked of being good wives in every way but sleeping with their husbands, for which they cared little. Lately, Harriet Sanders had taken a separate room.

  Andrea walked into the dining room, slowly gazing around the long table to make certain every plate was clean and shiny, every setting just right. Meanwhile she wondered about her mother. Some women had many children, especially Indian women. Many of their friends had five, seven, nine children and more in their families, yet the parents seemed perfectly happy. Why did some women have many babies, and others only one or two, choosing then not to sleep with their husbands? What happened behind those closed doors? What happened to a young woman when she was married? Did she love a man before marriage, and hate him afterward? Was mating with a man something horrible and humiliating? Surely it was, for Andrea had seen animals mate. If a man did something like that to a woman, how could she ever look him in the eyes again, or let him see her that way in the first place? And yet in stark contrast, the thought of Adam Chandler touching her breast with one strong, dark hand brought very pleasant shivers throughout her body. Was it wrong to think of being touched by a boy, kissed by a boy?

  She sighed and stood back to study the table. It looked fine, but the only damper on the day was that the Meanses had been invited. Not only did Andrea dread the presence of Douglas Means, she wondered if Adam would have eyes for Douglas’s sister, Mary. Although Mary and Andrea were best friends, Andrea was sure she could never like Mary quite so much if Adam looked at her admiringly. Surely she was not as pretty as Andrea, for her hair was a mousy brown and her face was spotted with blemishes like her brother’s. But Mary was a nice girl and a devoted friend, and Andrea suddenly felt guilty for her thoughts.

  She walked back into the kitchen. “Everything must be perfect, Mother. Father says the Chandlers are very wealthy. I’m so nervous.”

  “Well, you needn’t be. I do not care whether or not I impress Indians, Andrea, but it is possible your father can learn something from Mr. Chandler, and he from your father. After all, we all have farming in common, and one might as well be friends with people like that as enemies.”

  Andrea scowled and stirred the gravy. “What do you mean, ‘people like that’?”

  “You know what I mean. Wealthy or not, they’re still Indians.”

  Andrea’s heart felt heavy. “Surely if they live so fine and all, they are no different from us, Mother.”

  The woman put the turkey back into the oven. “They are different, no matter how educated or wealthy, Andrea. Always remember that. But if you want to be friends with Ruth Chandler, we will not forbid it. Just be wary of those Cherokee boys and Ruth’s brother. Your father tells me he’s a well-educated, fine-looking boy. But it is wrong for those Indian boys to be interested in white girls.”

  Andrea’s stomach tightened more. If only there were someone she could talk to. She hadn’t even told Mary about Adam, and usually she told Mary everything. Now her mother had dashed all hopes of her talking about the boy to her parents. There was nowhere she could turn, and having to keep it a secret only seemed to intensify her feelings for Adam. Her mother’s remark had made her want to defend him, but she dared not. She tasted the gravy. It was perfect, but she knew she would eat little that day, and at the moment she was struggling not to cry.

  She was determined now to make friends with Ruth Chandler, so she would have an excuse to go and visit the Chandlers, a way to see more of Adam. Walking to the hall mirror again, she pinched her cheeks for color and wished she didn’t have so many freckles. She smoothed her dress, hoping it hadn’t got too wrinkled in the back from sitting in church. They would eat later than usual, for the Chandlers had also attended church, on their own side of the ridge, and had insisted on waiting an hour or so after church before even leaving to allow Andrea’s mother plenty of time to prepare things after getting home from services.

  Now Andrea could hear the carriage. Why had she imagined the Chandlers arriving on bareback horses and wearing buckskins? She hurried to the door. A fancy double-seated surrey with a fringed canopy top was approaching, drawn by two fine, shiny black horses, and Andrea’s entire body suddenly felt warm and limp. It would not be easy pretending she didn’t already know Adam. She had been careful to watch her remarks so she would not slip and in some way reveal her secret meeting with him. As the surrey came closer, she stepped outside, followed by her mother. Her father was approaching from the barn, where he had been feeding the horses. His plain, black woolen suit suddenly looked like poor-man’s clothing to Andrea, as did her mother’s stern black dress. In the distance the Meanses were coming, Mary, Ethel, and Wilson Means in a rattling buggy, Douglas riding alongside on his own horse, a fine red Thoroughbred of which he was boastfully proud.

  Andrea’s heart tightened. If only Douglas were not coming, it would be a perfect day. She had avoided him since that day she’d come down from the ridge, still hating him for saying he’d peeked at her and Mary while they were bathing. She had invited Mary over many times since, but had not gone to the Meanses’ house; she didn’t know how to explain that to Mary. Mary had taken offense a few times, but Andrea was afraid to tell on Douglas for he might tell her father she’d been on the ridge. It seemed since she’d met Adam Chandler, everything was changing. Her stomach was always upset and she felt more and more alone. Something was happening that she could not stop, didn’t know how to stop, even if she wanted to.

  Both buggies came close then, and Morgan Sanders greeted Jonas Chandler with a friendly smile. As the Cherokee man climbed down from the surrey and shook Morgan’s hand, Andrea’s eyes immediately went to Adam, and her knees felt weak. He smiled that handsome smile, and she smiled in return, trying to thank him with her eyes for not telling on her. She glanced at his father, a handsome man, short and stocky, with kind, brown eyes. His mother was very pretty, but taller than her husband, and his young sister sat looking nervous and timid.

  Andrea’s father tied the horses to a hitching post in front of the house, and Jonas Chandler helped his wife down. Adam climbed down, then urged his sister to get out also, while Douglas rode up on his fine horse and dismounted with a cocky air. All the Chandlers were dressed in the latest fashion, and Adam looked splendid in a deep blue suit, the pants tightly fitted, the coat cut to the waist in front, but long in back. Andrea had seen such coats displayed in Atlanta. The collar was an even deeper blue and made of velvet. Jonas Chandler was similarly dressed, but his suit was brown. Young Ruth wore a very pretty yellow dress, and Mrs. Chandler a modest light blue dress, fashionable but not gaudy.

  Douglas walked up beside Andrea, as though he owned her, but she moved away, going to stand beside her mother. Adam caught the daring look in Douglas’s gray eyes, and although he did not know the young man yet, he already didn’t like him. He’d run into white boys like this one before. The Meanses climbed out of their own buggy, and Mary ran to Andrea, giggling and staring at the Cherokees.

  “Look at the boy!” she whispered in Andrea’s ear. “I thought he would surely be ugly. But he’s beautiful.”

  Andrea scowled. She wanted to tell Mary not to look at him, to announce that the Cherokee boy belonged only to he
r. But she had no such claims on him, nor could she have admitted such a thing if she did. The ache that knowledge brought to her heart almost made her want to cry.

  There were introductions all around, and Douglas blatantly refused to shake hands with Adam Chandler. As they all entered the house, Douglas moved next to Andrea, actually putting an arm around her waist, to her horror and embarrassment. She quickly jerked away and gave him a glaring look of hatred, but Douglas only grinned so she moved to the opposite side of the table, finding it almost impossible not to cry. Why had he done that? Adam would think they were—Of course! Douglas Means was jealous of Adam Chandler’s good looks and fine build. He had immediately thought Andrea would have an eye for him. She wished she could flirt with Adam to spite Douglas, but she didn’t dare. She glanced at Adam again, and he held her eyes for a moment. He knew! He knew she hated Douglas Means, had quickly discerned the situation and was trying to tell her it was all right. She felt better, but properly dropped her eyes, fearful that Douglas would watch and catch every look.

  Pies baked by Rose Chandler were carried into the kitchen and there was general visiting and commotion as Morgan Sanders directed the seating, mixing the guests so they could get to know each other better. To Andrea’s surprise and relief, Douglas was seated between Rose and Jonas Chandler. Young Ruth was seated to Andrea’s left, and Adam to her right. She wondered if she would get through the meal without fainting, and worried she would spill something or do some other foolish thing to make Adam laugh at her. Douglas sat almost directly across from her, his gray eyes watching her like a hawk. He turned away once, and Adam gave Andrea a nudge with his elbow. She turned to meet his dark eyes, and he gave her a quick smile. He wanted to tell her how pretty she looked, to tell her she’d been in his thoughts night and day since he’d met her at the big oak tree. He still longed to kiss her, touch her. But he couldn’t tell her anything—not here, not now.

  Andrea quickly looked away, turning to Ruth, who looked nervous and bashful. She spoke up. “I’m fourteen. Father says you are thirteen. Do you go to school?”

  The girl nodded. “I might go to Brainard Mission this fall. I want to be a teacher.”

  “Really? I would like to come and see your house someday, and visit your school and see your town. Do you think I could?”

  The girl met her eyes, looking a little relieved. “I would like that, Andrea, is it?”

  Andrea nodded. “Most people call me Andy. I have a china doll. I’ll show it to you after we eat.”

  Ruth smiled. “I have a big doll collection in my room. You can come and see it.”

  Andrea smiled. “That would be fun.” In her mind she was thinking mostly of getting to see Adam. Mary Means, who sat on the other side of Ruth, leaned forward to look at Andrea.

  “We could both go,” she declared, her jealousy showing.

  Andrea’s heart fell. She didn’t want to hurt Mary, yet with her along, how could she get away with talking to Adam? “Sure, Mary. We could both go,” she answered, but her eyes showed her disappointment, and Mary scowled, interpreting the look as meaning that Andrea would rather be friends with Ruth Chandler than with her. To Andrea, everything was going wrong, but she was reassured when her mother brought out the food, setting the turkey in front of her father to be carved. The Chandlers were all graciousness and proper manners, and Andrea was secretly proud, especially of Adam, who seemed entirely at ease and far outshined Douglas Means.

  General visiting prevailed around the table as they ate, and Douglas Means watched Adam carefully as he answered questions about his education, jealous that Adam, at sixteen, far excelled him in learning and refinement, though Douglas was eighteen. Adam was obviously brilliant, and it was rumored that many Cherokee were exceedingly gifted in the field of learning.

  “Many of our young women are now teachers themselves,” Jonas Chandler was explaining. “And one of our young men has recently finishing translating the New Testament from Greek into Cherokee. You know, of course, that a few years ago another one of our people, Sequoyah, developed written symbols for the Cherokee language, and now most of our people speak, read, and write in both Cherokee and English.”

  “It’s quite remarkable how far you have come in such a few years,” Harriet Sanders spoke up. “Morgan tells me what a fine home and farm you have, and you even own slaves.”

  Jonas nodded. “We are making every effort, Mrs. Sanders, to cooperate with our neighbors, to live as you live and be just as educated and advanced, so that we can stay in our beloved land. If we cause our neighbors no trouble, and become educated and civilized, there will be no reason for your government to bring us harm or make us leave this land.”

  Harriet smiled, but there was an odd silence around the table.

  “Come on now,” Douglas put in. “Don’t you still get an urge to do some raiding again, to hunt, maybe take a few scalps—especially your young men?”

  “Douglas!” the boy’s father snapped. “That was unnecessary.”

  Douglas was glaring at Adam, who held his eyes steadily, showing no shock or anger.

  Adam smiled. “Do you get urges like that?” he answered.

  Douglas reddened. “And just how educated are you, Cherokee boy?”

  Adam straightened. “I have been to a school of higher learning already, in Connecticut.”

  Douglas snickered. “The one they’re closing because all the white girls fell in love with the Cherokee boys?”

  “That will be enough, Douglas!” Wilson Means snapped. “We are guests in this house, as are the Chandlers, and we’re here to get along! That remark was uncalled for.”

  Douglas looked from Adam to Andrea. Her face was red and she looked about ready to cry. He glared at her a moment. Then he sighed deeply, and glanced at his father. “I’m sorry, Father.” He looked back at Adam. “But I’ll bet the Cherokee boy doesn’t know any more than I do. Indians can’t be all that smart.”

  Adam set aside a fork. “Do you speak French?” he asked calmly.

  Douglas glared at him. “Of course not. I suppose you do?”

  Adam turned and looked at Morgan Sanders. “Je vous remercie de votre hospitalité. Je vous suis très reconnaissant.” He looked back at Douglas, whose mouth hung open. “I thanked Mr. Sanders for his hospitality and told him I am very grateful. Wouldn’t you like to thank him in another language, or do you only speak English?”

  Douglas folded his napkin and set it beside his plate, shoved back his chair. “Excuse me,” he grumbled. He rose and walked out the door. Inside herself, Andrea was clapping her hands, wishing she could laugh out loud. The table was silent until Jonas Chandler finally turned to Andrea’s father.

  “I am sorry. My son had no right to boast that way. It is not like him. Perhaps we should go.”

  “No,” Sanders replied. “You are our guests. Douglas goaded him into it.” He looked at Wilson Means. “Wilson, I didn’t invite these people here to be insulted, nor did I invite you for the same reason. I’d like you to stay the afternoon. I think we should all get to know each other better.”

  Wilson nodded. “I agree. I apologize for my son, Mr. Chandler,” he added, looking at Adam’s father. “He’s at an age where he gets a bit obstinate—itching to be his own man, you understand—though I must admit that some of us feel a bit threatened by Indians making such fast progress. Perhaps if your people didn’t talk so much about their own government and having a separate state, people like us wouldn’t be so worried.”

  Jonas Chandler glanced at his wife, then at Adam, who looked angry. “I fail to understand why this should worry any of you,” he answered. “We keep to ourselves, bother no one, make good use of the land. We have been here for many hundreds of years, were here long before any white man set foot here. Why shouldn’t we have our own state?”

  Wilson Means scowled. “I…I don’t know. It just doesn’t seem right. Why can’t you just leave things like they are? You own the land. We live next to each other and get along fine.
Why form a separate government and state? Just be a part of Georgia.”

  Jonas Chandler smiled sadly, while Adam stared at his water glass, looking ready to burst. “We would like nothing better, Mr. Means. But I am afraid your people would find a way to move in on our land and take it from us if we were simply a part of Georgia. We would have no protection, for the Indian seldom has any rights under white man’s laws, nor any power in his government. Our only protection is to have our own state, our own government, a place that we can truly call our own, one that others cannot invade.”

  “That’s an impossible dream,” Andrea’s father stated, and her heart tightened at the remark. “Our people are destined to own this whole country, pompous as that might sound, Mr. Chandler. One only has to look at what has happened since our forefathers first came here. Some Eastern tribes don’t even exist anymore.”

  Rose Chandler remained politely quiet, and her husband kept his composure. “That is true,” he answered. “But they fought back, refused to cooperate, refused to change their ways. The Cherokee on the other hand have cooperated in every way, have worked diligently at improving their lot, learned white man’s farming. We have schools; we are Christianized. We live in fine homes and some of us are very wealthy. What possible reason could there now be to exile our people or to exterminate them? What possible motive could the white man have for wanting to do such a thing to the Cherokee?”

  The table was quiet again. Everyone knew the answer. Douglas had just displayed it—jealousy, combined with a yearning to own the valuable land where the Cherokee now resided.