“I love you, too, Adam,” she said softly. “Can a girl my age be in love?”
He smiled. “Why not? Some girls get married at your age, sometimes younger.”
Their eyes held, and she saw the worry in his. “I think we are going to have some big problems, Andrea. But if we love each other, we can always be together, can’t we?”
She rested her head on his shoulder. “I hope so.” She wondered if she should tell him her own father and his friend were speaking against the Indians. She was afraid to tell, afraid he wouldn’t trust her then.
“Things look bad, Andrea. The stories we are getting about the Creek…” He sighed and let her nestle into his shoulder. “They stripped and beat the women, raided their homes and took whatever they wanted. The people were loaded into their wagons with whatever they could carry. Many things were left behind, furnishings, cattle, almost everything. Everything.” The last word was choked and he squeezed her shoulders. “I feel a great darkness coming, Andrea. I pretend that I am not afraid, but I am. But I will fight. We will fight to the last man, the last law; make the last effort we can to stay here.”
“Oh, Adam, I’m so sorry,” she declared. “I don’t know what else to say.”
“There is nothing anyone can say. We can only keep fighting in Washington. We have some good men on our side, men like Daniel Webster, and some of our own fine men—Elias Boudinot, John Ross. And the North is still in our favor, so are the missionaries who live among us. What frightens me is the lust the white man has to own valuable land, as much of it as he can get. He’ll use any underhanded means he can to get it. And with so many more people coming into Georgia, our land has become priceless. The white man tries every legal means to get what he wants, in order to soothe his conscience. But if that doesn’t work, he just comes in and takes it anyway. That is what is happening with the Creek. They say there is some legal basis, but it all amounts to trickery and deceit.” He kissed her hair. Oh, how he wanted to do more! “Speaking of trickery and deceit, have you had any more trouble with that Douglas Means?”
She swallowed and sat forward. “A little. He tried to kiss me, and he…touched me.”
Adam clenched his fists. “I’ll kill him!”
She turned to face him. “It’s all right now. He’s gone.”
“Gone? Gone where?”
She looked down at the grass. “He’s gone to join the Georgia Militia. He said a bad thing about the Creek women. I hope he gets killed.”
Adam picked up a small rock and threw it angrily. “Bastard! I do not like the idea of him being with the militia, but at least he is away from you.” He leaned forward and put his face in his hands. “I can hardly stand to think of it, Andrea, of what is happening. Many Creeks have already died. Old women are made to walk westward. Young women are raped. Homes and farms are left behind. Little children die of disease. They say the land where they go is very different from here—hot and dry and barren—hard to farm. Some of our people went right away, when Georgia first threatened to make us go by force. Many of them died. A few came back with terrible stories. I do not want to go there, Andrea. I do not want to leave this place. It is home. The trees are my friends, and so are the animals. I’m so scared, Andrea.”
He raised his head and their eyes met, and there were tears on his cheeks. Her heart shattered into a hundred pieces and she threw her arms around him.
“Oh, Adam, don’t! It will work out. I know it will! You won’t have to go. And if you do, I’ll go, too. I couldn’t bear to stay behind and watch you go! I never want you to go away!”
His arms encircled her and he held her tightly. He kissed her cheek, moving his mouth to her lips then, kissing her with all the eager passion of a frightened, passionate young man wanting to hang on to all that was dear and familiar to him. And at the moment she never wanted to let go of him. He laid her back, his desires fired by the urgency of impending disaster, and she returned his kiss with equal fervor. He left her lips then, moving his own to her neck, breathing in the sweet scent of her.
“God, Andrea, I love you,” he groaned, moving a hand carefully over one small breast, bringing a gasp to her lips.
Her body felt on fire, and she didn’t know what to do with her hands, whether she should stop him, hold him. No, she didn’t want to stop him from touching her this way. Never had such wonderful passions engulfed her, such pleasant urges, such utter ecstasy as to have Adam Chandler touch her breast and tell her he loved her. She ran her hands through his hair, closing his eyes and whimpering when he moved his face down and nuzzled it against her breasts. His hand went to her skirt and began to push it up, and his fingers brushed along her bare leg as he moved his lips back to her neck. Suddenly she grabbed his wrist.
“Adam, don’t. I can’t.” He took his hand away and embraced her, kissing her hard again, understanding her fears, glad now he’d been with that wild girl. It helped him restrain himself now. But even though he’d been with her, it was poor preparation for uniting with a virgin That was an entirely different matter and something that would take time. It should be withheld for marriage, but with neither parents ready to accept such a union, it could be months before that could happen. How could he wait that long? He loved her. He wanted her. His need of her was immediate and urgent, his youthful passions difficult to control.
She let him kiss her again, her desires wildly mixed. She wanted to run, but she wanted to stay. She was afraid of being intimate, but wildly curious about it, her joy at his touch knowing no bounds. They kissed with hot passion, grasping almost awkwardly at each other, touching but afraid to go too far, petting, enjoying. She was lost in him, for to her he was all man and more, experienced, intelligent, handsome, brave, strong, everything a girl wanted in a man. She did not resist when he gently grasped her hand and moved it down to touch that part of him that made him a man. It was large and firm, reminding her of the male horses and dogs she had seen. Surely it would hurt to mate with him. She pulled her lips away from his, reddening.
“Don’t, Adam.”
“It’s all right. I don’t want you to be afraid, Andrea. Some day I’m going to make you a woman. It will be me and nobody else, understand? I don’t want anybody else to touch you. You belong to me. And when I get inside you, I won’t hurt you. I promise I won’t hurt you. It will feel so good, Andrea, and it will be so beautiful. You’ll see.”
He kissed her again, content for the moment just to press against her, to fondle a small breast through her dress, to touch and rub and kiss. A little at a time. That’s how he had to handle Andrea. A little at a time, or she’d run away and maybe hate him. For several minutes they were lost in one another, fondling, touching, their breathing coming in quick, hot gasps until suddenly he pulled away from her and sat up.
“I…I’ll be right back,” he said, his voice husky. He hurried away.
“Adam, where are you going?” she called out to him.
“Never mind. Just wait there for me.” He disappeared behind some shrubbery. Minutes later he returned, his shirt retucked, his hair smoothed back with his hands. He came and sat down beside her, leaning against the tree trunk and reaching out for her. She moved beside him, resting her head on his shoulder, her face still flushed.
“Why did you go off?”
“I just…I didn’t want to make you do something you aren’t ready for. I had to…get away from you for a minute, that’s all.”
Her eyes teared. “Do you think I’m bad, Adam?”
He sighed. “Hell, no. If I thought you were bad I wouldn’t have gone behind the bushes. I’d have…Never mind. I told you I love you, didn’t I?”
She wrapped an arm around his middle. “I don’t want to leave here, Adam. I want to be with you for ever and ever.”
“That’s how I feel, too. But we have to try to make it work the right way first. Someday I’ll have to tell my father, and you’ll have to tell yours. Surely when they know how much we love each other, they’ll consent to letting us see
each other.”
“I don’t know if my father will ever consent. I don’t think his friendship is real, Adam. Some white people have one way of thinking of Indians, no matter what.”
“We won’t let that stop us. Right now, for a while, we have to keep this a secret, okay? I’ll tell you when I think it’s time we told our parents.”
“Whatever you say, Adam. I’ll let you make the decisions. That’s how it’s supposed to be.”
She kissed his neck, and he put a big hand to her face. “I liked you that first time I saw you up here, Andrea. I don’t know why. I guess maybe because I saw how you looked at my tree. You loved it right away, and I could tell you liked being alone and thinking about things. Most white girls I’ve met talk too much, and they’re silly and only care about wearing pretty dresses. They don’t seem to think seriously about anything.” He looked up at the gnarled branches of the old tree. “You do like this tree, don’t you?”
She looked up also, feeling dizzy when she stared through the branches that reached skyward. “I love it. Big trees seem almost like God—so strong and immovable. I feel safe under a big tree, and I can talk to God better.”
“I talk to Him a lot when I am up here. I pray that I will never have to leave here. But there is so much devil in the white man, I am not sure I will get my wish.”
She hugged him tighter. “Surely you will, Adam. Everything is so peaceful, and your people are so successful. To move them out of Georgia would surely be illegal and impossible. It simply can’t happen.”
He studied the great tree’s branches again. “That’s what the Creeks thought, and the Choctaws, and the great nations of Indians farther east, many of whom are completely gone now.”
They both sat quietly then, thinking, praying, wanting only to be together and cherish this precious moment they had stolen. For another half-hour or better they talked very little, resting in each other’s arms, wishing they could stay all day. But then he sighed deeply and kissed her hair. “I have to be getting back, Andrea. I sure don’t want to, but I’d better.”
“I know. I’d better go back, too. If I stay too long, Father will send someone looking for me.”
She raised her face to meet his and they kissed again, hungrily, urgently, his hand moving over her breast again. It seemed so natural, so right, as though it was all meant to be. They were in love. Why shouldn’t they kiss and touch and share? What better way to show affection and love than to please and be pleased through the glory of sweet sexual encounters? How could that be bad when it was done out of love, rather than just an animalistic drive as it was with those wild girls?
She hugged him tightly. “Promise me you won’t see one of those girls again.”
He kissed her hair. “I won’t. And you won’t date any other boys, will you?”
“You know I won’t.”
They kissed again. “I convinced my father to let me stay home this winter and not go back to school someplace else for a while,” he told her then. “My uncle, Leonard Tallman, also approved. You met him at the dance. He has much to say in what I do, as is Cherokee custom. Both agreed I need to stay this year and help with the constitution and other things that will be happening as we declare ourselves a nation. There is much work ahead if we are to remain in Georgia.” He smoothed back her hair. “There will be times when I have to be away, carrying messages to other Cherokee villages. Somehow I will let you know when I can meet you here, agiya.”
“Agiya? What does that mean?”
“It simply means woman, only lovingly.”
Her eyes teared. “Am I your woman then?”
“If you want to be.” He kissed her eyes.
“You know I want to be. And what is the Cherokee word for man—lovingly?”
“Asgaya.”
“Asgaya,” she repeated. “You are my man.”
He nodded. “I am your man.” He stood up reluctantly, pulling her up with him. “We had better go back. Be careful on your way down. Come again next Saturday. Can you?”
“If I don’t die of loneliness before then.”
He smiled, his eyes sad. “Neither of us will die. We have too much to live for.” He pulled her tight against himself, kissing her once more. She ran her hands over the young, hard muscle of his arms and shoulders, finding it hard to believe that this beautiful Cherokee man had chosen her for his own. He pulled away again. “If I do not go now, we will never leave here at all.” He backed away.
“Where is your horse?” she asked.
“I run up here and run back, to stay strong,” he replied.
Her eyes widened. “All this way?”
He grinned, throwing out his arms. “It keeps a man strong.” Their eyes held a moment longer. “Good-bye, Andrea. Please be here next Saturday.”
“You know I will.”
He stared at her a moment longer, then was off, quickly disappearing into the underbrush. She could not stop the tears then, tears of both joy and sadness. She was in love! And the beautiful man she loved, loved her in return. He had kissed her! He had touched her breast, and she had touched his most private place and was not afraid. He belonged to her. Adam Chandler belonged to her! Waiting a whole week to see him again was going to be torture. She hugged herself, crying.
“Oh, please, God, please let it work. Please don’t ever let me lose him!” she prayed aloud. “Don’t be mad at me for letting him touch me. I do love him so. Please let us be together forever!”
She wiped at her eyes and took one last look at the big oak tree, his tree, and at the matted grass beneath it where she had been kissed and touched by a boy for the first time. But not really a boy. Adam. Adam was a man, and she no longer felt like a little girl.
She untied her pony and headed down the ridge toward home, while miles away, farther west, more Creek Indians were herded by whips and at gunpoint into wagons, clinging to their little children and the few possessions they were allowed to take with them to the new land, where nearly half of them would die.
Chapter Five
Their young love could not be denied. Nothing would stop it. At what age is passion and love more painful than in those years that hang between childhood and adulthood, especially when spiced by being a forbidden love, and intensified by the thought that every moment together could be the last. They became more bold in meeting, not caring about the risks or consequences, for to be together was the only important thing in their lives. Everything else took second place.
To Andrea’s unwitting parents, the girl seemed moody, a little more stubborn, more quiet, except when she returned from her frequent long rides. Then she would be flushed and happy, almost too eager to do her chores. Both parents attributed her changing moods to “growing up.” But Mary Means didn’t bother to reason out Andrea’s changed behavior. Suddenly her friend hardly ever came to visit her, and Andrea had stopped asking her to come and stay on weekends. She now seemed more interested in riding and being alone. Mary was beginning to hate her. Ever since she’d gone to stay with Ruth Chandler that weekend, she had not been as friendly. Mary felt that she had been replaced, just because Ruth was richer—and because Andrea felt special for having stayed in a Cherokee home.
Andrea was oblivious to all of it, just as Adam was oblivious to the fact that he, too, was different, suddenly more mature, wanting to know about his father’s farm and businesses, talking of staying right there at New Echota and perhaps doing some kind of work for the Cherokee in the way of writing and editing. The constitution was fast taking form, and questions and suggestions were run from village to village by Adam, who welcomed the trips, for he always arranged to be back at a certain time to meet Andrea under the tree, having given his parents a vague answer as to when he would return so they would not question the time of his arrival. Doing that gave him all the time he wanted with Andrea, as long as she could get away herself.
Andrea! How he ached to mate with her; how he wondered what it was like to break in a virgin. He must be the one to do it
, and no one else. Yet their relationship had to be kept secret, meaning marriage was out of the question yet. Her parents would never allow it, she was sure. But how long would he have to wait for her? For a full month they had been meeting beneath the oak tree, and he had touched her everywhere, but was always afraid to remove her clothes for fear that she would jump up and run away. Still, the last time…His breathing quickened at the thought of it, and he curled up painfully against his pillow. He had unbuttoned the front of her dress and reached inside, and she had not stopped him. His fingers had touched the small swelling of a young breast, the round nipple. The memory of her tiny gasps of bashful delight drove into him like a sword. She hadn’t stopped him from pulling the dress aside and looking at the lovely whiteness of her skin, the pink fruit of her breast. In hot agony he had kissed it, and only then had she suddenly stiffened. Both knew things were getting out of hand, as both knew that in time it would be impossible to keep from sharing their love through the ultimate consummation; for their driving need for each other was overwhelming. Every touch, every kiss, every whisper was ecstasy, and he wanted nothing more than to see Andrea Sanders lying naked beneath him. The thought of it brought a manly pride and possessiveness to his soul. So what if they were young? A lot of people married young. It was common among some whites, and among most Indians.
But he knew with a terrible hurt that it would not be age that would make her parents force them apart if they knew. It would be the fact that he was a Cherokee. Andrea didn’t look at him as a Cherokee, but merely as a young man she loved. And he had stopped thinking of her as white, but simply as the young girl he loved, who was fun to be with, who understood him, to whom he could talk. He wanted to do all the things with her he’d done with that wild girl, only more gently, more lovingly, with real passion and concern. And he was sure that with just the right prodding, touching, kissing, he could do more than touch her breast. She was ready. She wanted him. But she was afraid.
Heart's Surrender Page 7