Even from a distance Andrea spotted Adam riding down a calf. He didn’t see her right away, and she watched, a fluttering, burning excitement in her chest, as he roped the calf, then dismounted and quickly tied its feet together. “Got another one for you!” he called out. “She kept running off.”
Some men headed toward the calf with a branding iron, and Adam helped hold the animal until the branding was over. Then he untied the rope, let it go. When he turned, he spotted Andrea. Their eyes held fast, and she slowly reddened for he wore no shirt and his dark skin glowed in the hot sun. His shoulders were broad and powerful, hard muscle showing everywhere. He looked every bit a man, at least to Andrea Sanders, even though he did not have the true fullness yet of a grown man. Without a shirt, he was even more beautiful, and she was filled with an aching curiosity about how a man looked wearing nothing at all. Did he look like the cows and the horses?
He smiled and waved to her, and she waved back. “Where are you going?” he called to Ruth.
“Swimming,” she answered. “We’ll see you at supper tonight. And don’t come swimming. I don’t want you bothering us.”
Andrea wanted to argue with that, but she didn’t dare. The usual bickering that went on between brothers and sisters was going to keep her from seeing Adam as often as she would like, but being at the Chandlers was better than nothing at all.
“Don’t worry. I won’t bother you, baby sister,” he called back. He glanced at Andrea again, glad she could see him shirtless and branding cattle. It made him feel more manly. He was anxious for the dance, for his father had given him permission to escort Andrea, even though Ruth would have to come along—but only because Andrea was an honored guest. He had strict orders not to look at her in any other way. But Adam could not help but to look at her in other ways, and he would be proud to take her to the dance.
The girls rode off, and Adam turned back to riding down more strays. In spite of his feelings for Andrea, he was contemplating finding a way to get one of the wild white girls alone later the next night. There were things he had to learn about girls so he would know how to treat Andrea. Maybe if he could share a hayloft with another girl, he could get rid of these terrible needs Andrea had awakened in him and, therefore, not do something insulting and wrong with Andrea, something that might scare her and make her hate him. Emotions and desires were plaguing him lately, ever since he’d kissed Andrea behind the shed. Till then he’d been only mildly interested in girls, more interested in helping his father and getting his education so he could help the Cherokee cause. Suddenly he was aware of his masculinity, aware of a woman’s soft curves, curious about his father and mother. He felt a surge of power and pleasant urges when the Cherokee girls looked at him admiringly, and it was a Cherokee girl his father kept telling him he must be interested in, not others. But he could not get Andrea off his mind—her freckles and blue eyes and white blond hair; her pretty smile that seemed part girl’s and part woman’s; her slender form just awakening to womanhood…and the warm, good feeling he had when he was around her. All of it was more than a sixteen-year-old boy should be thinking about, but he’d always been mature for his age, and he did not consider himself a boy any longer. He was a man. He was nearly as strong as one and he was taller than his own father. He could do a man’s work and he had a nearly complete education. Already Elias Boudinot talked of letting him help publish the newspaper he planned to print for the Cherokee people.
He wrestled down another calf. Andrea was here and he was happy. After this weekend he would know her better. Maybe he’d even mate with one of those wild girls and know all there was to know, and someday soon he would meet Andrea again on the ridge, under the oak tree, taste her mouth again and make her whisper his name.
Andrea stood nervously among the huge crowd of Cherokees, many of whom spoke to each other in their own tongue. She was introduced to nearly everyone by Adam, who led her around like a proud peacock, and those she met smiled warmly at her. She felt no animosity, and was not the only white there. Several white missionaries mingled with the others, all very gracious, and the white girl from New England, whose marriage to Elias Boudinot had closed Cornwall, was also present, a pretty and obviously a happy and contented woman. Andrea could not help but watch her, wanting to prove to herself that it was certainly possible for a white girl to marry a Cherokee man and live happily among them.
She knew it was foolish to think of marriage at fourteen, yet what young girl did not think of such things? It would not be that many years before she was a wife and a mother, perhaps at sixteen. But it was possible that Adam Chandler had no such thoughts at the moment, and even when she thought of marrying, it was as if she were contemplating some distant fairy tale. Just being here with Adam at the dance was enough for now. She had seen very little of him after riding off the day before to go swimming. He had come home late, after she and Ruth were already in bed. She had heard him go to his room, and now recalled with guilt how she’d wondered if he was undressing, if he slept naked. The next morning he was gone again, early, for more chores. Had he gone to the oak tree first? She hadn’t seen him all day, and just before the dance he had attended a meeting with his father.
“The Cherokees are working on a constitution,” Ruth had told her. “Father says Adam is old enough to go to the meetings, and smart enough to help write it.”
That made Adam seem even more of a man to Andrea. His intelligence and his importance to the Cherokee, despite his youth, were admirable. But she’d been disappointed that she had hardly seen him since coming to visit, until shortly before they were all to leave for the dance, when he had taken her arm and led her into the parlor. He looked wonderful in a dark gray suit and starched cravat, every bit the picture of a wealthy Englishman, but more handsome with his dark Cherokee looks.
“May I escort you tonight?” he had asked, “as my personal date? My father said it was all right, except that I must remember you are just a guest. I am not supposed to be interested in you.” He winked then. “He doesn’t know I already am.”
She had felt faint at the words, and his manliness and maturity had made her feel like a small child. That first time she’d met him, she hadn’t cared what he’d thought or how she’d acted. Now, to be around him made her nervous and weak. Why? Why was it suddenly so important that she look perfect, that she not do anything to make him laugh at her? Of course she had agreed to let him escort her, and she felt like a princess as he introduced her to the others, and when they danced together. He danced beautifully, skillfully guiding her own awkward steps.
And never had Adam Chandler felt more manly than this night. He’d been to his first meeting regarding the constitution, and had been afforded great respect for his thoughts and input. Now the girl who had been haunting him was in his arms, and she was the prettiest girl at the dance, as far as he was concerned. As they danced he had a chance to talk to her more privately, his first opportunity since she’d arrived.
“Do you like it here?”
“I love it here,” she answered. “Everyone has been very kind. I thought some people might not like my being here.”
“Lots of whites come here, especially the missionaries. What did you think of New Echota when my father took you there today?”
She shrugged. “It’s just like our own towns. It’s very nice.”
“We had a meeting there. I wanted to ride in the wagon with you and Ruth and Father, but Father had shopping to do first and I had chores to do, so I rode in later. I regret that I’ve not been able to see much of you since you’ve been here. Did you and Ruth have a good time shopping while Father and I were at the meeting?”
“Yes. But I mostly looked. My father didn’t give me money to spend. Ruth bought me a hair ribbon. That was very nice of her.”
He smiled. They were suddenly both nervous, making small talk, avoiding the urgent passions they had begun to feel for one another.
“The meeting I attended was to help write a Cherokee constitution
,” he told her. “They wanted my help.”
She smiled softly. “Ruth told me. You must be very proud that they asked you.”
He shrugged then, looking a little bashful. “I guess I would have to say I was.” Their eyes held and his smile faded. “You are not angry with me then, for that day behind the shed?”
She reddened a little, warm waves of desire rippling through her at the memory of his lips on her own. “No.”
He moved his arm a little farther around her, wanting to draw her close against him. But that was improper. If only they were alone, he knew she would let him hold her tighter. “And if I kissed you again, you would let me? You would not be angry?”
She dropped her eyes, swallowing. The whining fiddle music stopped and he had to let go of her. Then a peppier tune was played, and a man began calling steps to a square dance. As several couples hollered out and then formed a circle, Adam took Andrea’s hand and led her toward a quieter corner of the huge barn where the dance was being held, on the property of one of the wealthiest Cherokees. He squeezed her hand and she looked up at him.
“Come to visit my sister often, Andrea. The next time I will make sure I am not so busy. We’ll find a way to be together. I want to talk to you more. I want…” He swallowed. “Saturday. Next Saturday. Will you come to the oak tree late in the day, like around four o’clock? You could tell your parents you are just going for a ride again.”
Her chest tightened so that she was sure each breath would be her last. She knew what he would do. He would kiss her again, perhaps even hold her in his strong arms. Surely she would die if he did, but it would be a pleasant way to die. “I’ll come,” she answered.
He smiled the beautiful smile. “Good. It will be a long week for me.”
“For me, too.”
He squeezed her hand again. “Would you like something to drink?”
She nodded. Her mouth was dry and she felt warm. “Please.”
“Wait right here.” He left her and headed for the refreshment table. He was wonderful. He had told her he felt better calling her Andrea, because Andy sounded too childish for a girl turning into such a pretty woman. She breathed deeply at the thought of that remark. At least he saw her as a mature young lady and not a child. She wished she would begin to round out into a woman, but she was still skinny as a stick and so flat chested that she needed no undergarment over her breasts. But if Adam didn’t care about such things, she wouldn’t worry about it.
She heard a screech and some laughter then, and looked toward the barn entrance. Four white girls had just come in. Surrounded by several Cherokee boys, they were giggling and flirting. Their hair, hanging long, was tangled, and they didn’t look very clean. Andrea noticed that some of the older people scowled as they watched the girls and then began to talk among themselves. The girls quickly joined the square dancers, each having picked out a boy, and they deliberately whirled their skirts high, revealing bare legs. They were barefoot, and had generous bosoms.
Andrea’s eyes shifted to Adam, who had turned to watch the girls for a moment. One eyed him as she circled by, and turned her head to keep looking at him as the dance led her away from him again. When she whispered something to the boy with her, he turned and looked back at Adam, then said something in reply. Andrea, filled with a most painful jealousy, was relieved when Adam finally turned away, picked up two glasses of punch, and brought them over to her. “Drink up so we can dance again,” he told her.
She took a sip. “Who are those girls?” she asked.
He grinned. “They are from the other side. Some of the ones I told you about.”
The jealousy burned at her stomach. “Do they…is each one with…with a special boy tonight?”
Adam laughed lightly. “That kind is never with one special boy. I have heard each girl sometimes walks off with two or three boys. I have friends who have been with them. They tell some pretty good stories.”
A lump formed in Andrea’s throat and she kept trying to swallow it back. “You wouldn’t go off with one of those wild, dirty things, would you, Adam?”
When he didn’t reply she looked up at him. He was watching the girls, then he looked down at her. “No,” he lied, knowing she’d get angry and walk away if he said anything else. But his blood was hot and his curiosity too strong and urgent now for him to promise he’d never go off with one of the easy girls, in spite of how he felt about Andrea. She was special, innocent. Maybe someday he’d mate with her. How could he do that if he didn’t know anything? Maybe he’d hurt her in some way and make a mess of things. “Drink your punch,” he told her. “I want to dance again.”
She hurriedly drank it down, wanting to dance herself, and show those wild girls that Adam Chandler belonged to her. She was his honored chosen one, and she was much nicer and prettier than any of those pigs who whirled their skirts and danced around on bare feet.
They rejoined the dancing as the fiddlers changed from square-dancing music to a slower tune. Andrea caught Adam watching that same girl again, as she danced flagrantly close to the boy who held her, whispering things in his ear and making him laugh nervously. Once Andrea even saw the girl move her hand over the boy’s hips, then throw her head back and laugh. Andrea looked up at Adam, who had also seen. He moved his eyes back to meet hers, and she suddenly felt like crying. He was going to do something. She sensed it with every bone in her little body; yet she had no right to order him not to touch some other girl, nor did she have the right or the maturity or the brazenness to flaunt herself before him and to offer herself in their place. It would be wrong, and she wouldn’t even know where to begin. She suddenly felt helpless and stupid and desperate. But then he squeezed her hand and she felt better.
“You do want me to meet you at the oak tree, don’t you?” she asked, feeling like a silly child.
“Of course I do.”
“You do like me, don’t you, Adam? I like you so very much.” She reddened then. Why had she said it? She was acting like a fool. But his eyes warmed and he smiled.
“You know I like you.” He swallowed. “Maybe I like you too much for your own good. You’re a nice girl, and you’re hardly any older than my sister.”
“Oh, but I am older! I’ll be fifteen in October.” She swallowed. “Don’t let anything stop you from meeting me at the oak tree next Saturday.”
He laughed lightly. “Now you’re being silly. I asked you, remember? Why would I ask you and then not be there?”
She reddened more. Adam’s father came up to him then, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Are you being a gentleman to our guest, Adam?” he asked as the music stopped.
“Of course I am, Father,” Adam answered with a smile.
Jonas Chandler looked warmly at Andrea. “Are you enjoying yourself, Miss Sanders?”
Andrea was grateful for the sudden interruption. “Yes, sir. Everyone has been very nice. I’d like to come back. And you must have Ruth come and stay the night with me sometime, although we don’t live in quite so grand a fashion.”
“Nonsense. You have a lovely home. Ruth would be glad to come.” Jonas frowned and put his arm around Ruth, who had come to stand beside them. “It is very important that we show you people how we live, Miss Sanders, that you understand we are no different. The Georgia government, as you know, is trying to get us removed and sent to a barren land. Do you see any reason why we should be forced out of Georgia?”
Andrea looked up at Adam, then to his father. Seeing anger and worry in their eyes, she replied, “No, sir. They can’t really make you go, can they?”
Jonas sighed deeply. “One would not think so, but when it comes to the leaders of Georgia, anything can happen.” He looked at his son. “The men are meeting outside for a few minutes, Adam. Come with me.”
“What is wrong, Father?”
“Just come with me. We will talk outside.”
Adam looked at Andrea. “Stay with Ruth. Have some more punch if you wish. I’ll be right back.”
He followed his father outside, along with several other men. Andrea met Ruth’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”
Ruth shrugged. “Who knows? Those men are always having meetings. I heard talk that things look bad for the Creeks. The Georgia Militia might come in and force them all out of their homes. But we have been smarter than the Creeks. Father says we have to stay one step ahead of the government all the time, so they don’t have any legal way of making us leave Georgia.”
It seemed incredible to Andrea that Adam might have to leave his beautiful home and farm. How could the Georgia Militia just come in and order people to leave their homeland? A chill went through her. Whatever happened, Adam would be involved. He was eager to fight for the Cherokee cause.
The crowd quieted somewhat, and three of the wild white girls left with some Cherokee boys, but the one who had been eying Adam was still there, much to Andrea’s dismay. Women talked among themselves, looking worried, and after several minutes the men returned, rejoining their wives and girl friends while Elias Boudinot stood on a crate and shouted for their attention.
“I have some sad news,” he told them. “But no need to be alarmed for yourselves. As in the past, we have continued to stay legally ahead of Congressman Wilson Lumpkin and his efforts to force us out of our homeland. But you should know that we’ve learned the Georgia Militia has begun to move in on the Creeks. Many have already been forcibly removed from their homes and farms. We’re told it’s a very sorry situation—injuries, sickness. Already whites are coming in to claim the Creeks’ land and homes.”
There were gasps and mumbles among the crowd, and Andrea hung her head, feeling suddenly out of place. “Dear God!” someone behind her whispered.
“I think we should offer prayers for our friends among the Creeks,” a missionary spoke up. “How about a hymn?” The man started singing “Amazing Grace” then, and several joined in. Andrea looked up at Adam; the warmth was gone from his eyes.
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