“It is worth a try, son. At least they are white. And surely the Sanderses would have respect for good, Christian people of their own kind.”
Adam kept staring backward. “There is nothing good and Christian about Morgan Sanders. He might pretend to be a Christian, but that is not the kind of Christianity we have been taught. All I can see is Andrea…lying there. It isn’t right. I should be with her.”
“Adam, if you go back there he’ll shoot you. Please, son, come home now. We’ll give them a few days to calm down, then send a missionary.”
“What if he hurts her!” The boy’s voice was choked.
“She’s his daughter, Adam. She’ll be all right.” He reached over and put a hand on the boy’s arm. “What about you? Everything happened so fast. I should have done more—”
“No. Someone had to stay calm. I broke my promise to you, Father.” The boy turned to meet his father’s eyes in the moonlight. “I never meant to break it. I just…when he said someday he would own our land—”
“I know. It is for that very reason I did not fight him, Adam. It is a hard lesson for the young, to know when to fight and when to keep still. Right now we all must keep still, fight this thing legally. There are a lot of people on our side, important people like Daniel Webster, and a lot of people in the North. We cannot do anything foolish. One small wrong move can ruin it all, Adam. If Andrea loves you, she will also understand this. She will want you to do whatever is right to keep our Cherokee land.”
The boy swallowed back tears, still shaking. “And does that mean we must sacrifice our love for it?”
Jonas sighed deeply. “I can’t answer that, Adam. Sometimes we must think beyond our own personal needs and wants.”
“I won’t give her up!”
Jonas squeezed the boy’s arm. “I can see that. But things do not always work out the way we want them to, Adam.”
“Why? Because I am a Cherokee? What is so different about that? What is so horrible about being an Indian?”
His father smiled sadly and shook his head. “That question will be asked for many years to come, I am afraid. There is something about the white man that makes him think if a man’s skin is very much darker than his own, there is something unworthy about him. But it is more than that, Adam. We Indians have something the white man wants—land. He has a lust for this land many times greater even than the desire you feel for your Andrea. That should tell you just how great is his desire. And we will have our hands full fighting it. Keeping our land from the whites will be many times harder than it will be for Morgan Sanders to keep Andrea from you. Now do you understand the danger?”
The boy sniffed and took a deep breath. He wished he were older, more powerful. “No white man will take what is mine—not my woman and not my land. He might get them both for a while, Father. But one day they will both be mine again. I make that vow tonight, before God and my father. Both will belong to me someday, and I’ll not breathe my last breath until that happens.”
Jonas nodded. “Somehow I feel it will, son. I might no longer be alive, but you’ll make it happen. Come now. Come home and take care of your wounds. We’ll talk to Reverend Jessup in the morning. He’s a good man. He’ll help us.”
Adam turned his horse reluctantly. He was supposed to be with her, to protect her. In his heart Andrea was his wife. He should have brought her with him. But his father was right. Sanders was itching to shoot him. He had no choice but to leave. Still, if this were the old days…He spent the rest of the ride contemplating all the ways he could torture Morgan Sanders before killing him…if it were the old days.
Andrea awoke feeling ill. What was wrong with her bed? It was moving, bumping and jostling. She rubbed at her eyes, at first not remembering anything, certainly not remembering going to bed. She lay quietly for a moment, pretending she was in Adam’s arms, as she always did when waking. But then another bump startled her and her eyes popped open to stare into the face of an older woman who was watching her with cold blue eyes. The girl’s heart pounded faster. Where was she! She sat up slightly, but fierce pain swept through her head, forcing her to groan and lie back down.
“It would be wise not to sit up at all for a while, according to the doctor I talked to before coming for you,” the woman stated.
Andrea put a hand to her forehead and opened her eyes again, trying to think, to stay calm and keep the awful pain from getting worse. Adam! Where was she, and what had happened to Adam? It all came back to her now, the night Adam came to tell her father—
She sat up in spite of the pain. She was in some kind of coach. The shades were drawn, but she could see sunshine peeping through the sides. “Where am I? Who are you? What happened to Adam?” Never had she known such fear and panic. Nothing was familiar. Why wasn’t she in her room?
The woman leaned over and pushed her back down. “You just relax, Andrea. We have a long ride ahead of us. Considering what you’ve done, I think your father has made a very wise choice. You’ll forget that sinful Cherokee boy soon and regret your waywardness. I think you’re young enough that the Lord will understand and forgive you.”
Pain seared through her, and she could not help the tears. “Please! Where am I? Who are you?”
“Don’t you remember me? I’m Mrs. Endicott. I spoke with you in church Sunday—you and your parents. Your father was considering sending you to a Christian finishing school in the North. That’s where we’re going now.”
Andrea choked back a sob. No! This couldn’t be! “It’s only the first of August. School doesn’t start for another month. And I…I wasn’t going to go. No one asked me.”
“At your age you have no hand in such decisions,” the woman said in an authoritative voice. “You’re going early so that you will not be able to run to that Cherokee boy. And mind you, if you see him again, he’ll be killed. Don’t doubt that for one minute. So you might as well start forgetting about him right now. It will be a good two years before you’re allowed to return home.”
“No! I have to go to Adam! He’ll be waiting for me—”
“You’ll go nowhere. You certainly can’t get out of this coach while it’s moving, and once we reach our destination you’ll be in a locked room until you come to your senses, child. And I told you, if you care anything for this Cherokee boy, you’ll stay away from him, to protect his life. If you want him to stay alive, do as you’re told. You’re lucky your father didn’t shoot him last night. He had the chance.”
Andrea just stared at her. Mrs. Endicott suddenly seemed like nothing more than a witch to her. She felt as if she were living out some kind of horror story. Far away? A locked room? Adam almost shot? She was being taken away from Adam, her head screaming with pain from her own father’s mistreatment, a virtual prisoner of a witch in a black coach. The child in her became terrified and she threw off the blankets. She’d leap out of the coach no matter how fast it was going!
She almost screamed in horror when she realized she was naked. Her eyes widened and she drew back onto the seat, pulling the blankets back over her. Mrs. Endicott only smiled. “A precautionary measure, in case you thought of running off. You can’t go anywhere in that condition, now can you?” Her eyes darkened then. “Perhaps as you lie there in your nakedness you will remember how you lay naked for an Indian boy, Andrea Sanders, and you will realize what a sinful thing you’ve done. You’ll have some extra hard work to do once you get to our school, to atone for your many sins. There will be little sleep for the likes of you for a while, so you’d better lie back and get what rest you can.”
A cold fear crawled through Andrea’s skin. Was it true Adam would be killed if she tried to get to him? What terrible things lay in wait for her? And what had happened to Adam? Poor Adam! She wondered what he would do when he found out what had become of her. Would he just try to forget her, marry some Cherokee girl? Would she ever see him again?
Mrs. Endicott pulled a small bottle from her handbag and handed it to Andrea. “Drink some of this. I
t will make you sleep. You have a head injury and need your rest.”
Andrea’s blue eyes narrowed with distrust, and she cringed into the corner of the seat, huddling under the blanket. “I don’t want it. And I don’t want to sleep.”
The woman’s face hardened again. “Take it, or I’ll rip that blanket off you and tell the driver to stop the coach and come back and take a look at you. You deserve to be shamed and humiliated like your parents. You’re lucky they’re going to try to keep your affair with that Indian trash a secret! In time you’ll see for yourself what a fool you’ve been. Now drink some of this or I’ll stop the coach and a strange man will be getting his eyes full of your nakedness. And he’ll know what a slut you are!”
Andrea felt sick. She could see the woman meant it. She reached out and took the bottle. “I’m not a slut. I love Adam Chandler, and nothing you or the school can do will change that—not ever! And Adam will never stop loving me! Someday I’ll be big enough to leave the school of my own accord, and I’ll go right back to Adam Chandler.”
The woman smiled haughtily. “You’ll forget him soon enough. A child your age knows nothing about love.”
Andrea took a drink of the bitter medicine and shivered. “If you knew anything about love, you’d let me go. You’d understand,” she said sullenly, handing back the bottle. Mrs. Endicott jerked it from her hand and capped it.
“You have a disrespectful mouth, Andrea Sanders—something you acquired from that Cherokee, no doubt. Now get some rest.”
She didn’t want to sleep, but minutes later a grogginess came over her. She could not fight it. Her head drooped with the motion of the coach, and vivid visions of Adam came into her mind. She could see him so clearly. He was smiling the brilliant smile, sweeping her into his arms, kissing her warmly. They were lying under the oak tree. The oak tree. Oh, how she would miss it! She must go there. Somehow she must go there! Adam! She wasn’t bad! Surely she wasn’t bad! She was just in love—in love with Adam Chandler. He wasn’t dirty and sinful and disrespectful. He was clean and good, educated and kind, wealthy and mannered. He was strong and brave and beautiful, and he loved her. What could be so wrong about loving a man like Adam Chandler? Yes, he was a man, not a boy like Mrs. Endicott called him. And she was a woman, not a child. She belonged with Adam. Soon the coach and Mrs. Endicott vanished from her mind. She was in Adam’s arms…
Reverend Jessup approached the Sanderses’ farm in his buggy, his heart heavy over the story he’d heard from young Adam Chandler and his father. He felt sorry for Adam, who was a brilliant young man with a great future, if the Georgia citizenry didn’t decide to move in and take everything that belonged to the Cherokee. It was difficult for any Indian to become a great and accomplished person, for he met adversity on every side. Reverend Jessup considered that a ridiculous waste, and he didn’t like the rumblings in Congress and among Georgia folk against the Cherokee. The Sanderses were just one example.
He sighed and shook his head as he came closer to the Sanderses’ house. Young love…it certainly could be complicated, mostly because young people were so passionate and impetuous. Still, he remembered his own eagerness when he’d met his own wife. But they had not had to deal with the fear of being separated by hatred for people who are different. They hadn’t had to wonder if each moment together might be the last. Perhaps, if it were not for that, Adam and Andrea would have waited until marriage for what they wanted, instead of having been pushed into joining. He could not fully blame the young pair, for they’d had to deal with their problem all alone, afraid to tell anyone, afraid to make their love public knowledge so they could marry and do everything the right way. But perhaps there was still hope. Perhaps now that the Sanderses had had a little time to think about the fact that their daughter had already joined herself to Adam Chandler, they would consent to a marriage. That certainly wouldn’t be the end of the world, and it would make everything honorable and legal. It would also make their poor daughter happy.
The minister was at the house then, and he halted the carriage and climbed out, tying the horse. He stepped onto the porch and knocked on the front door of the simple frame home, looked around while he waited. This was a fine farm, a little run down, but then Sanders had not owned it for very long and there was a lot of work to do. The Chandlers were obviously much more wealthy than the Sanderses, and he didn’t doubt that part of Morgan Sanders’s problem was jealousy. A lot of white men were jealous of the success and progress of the Cherokee. Jessup considered that foolish. Jealousy was a wasteful emotion. Why couldn’t men be happy for each other, help each other? It was all so ridiculous.
The door opened then, and a stern, dark woman looked at him. Jessup immediately wondered where Andrea Sanders had gotten her blond hair and blue eyes. He remembered seeing her in church that weekend she had stayed with Ruth Chandler. He nodded to the woman in the doorway. “Mrs. Sanders?”
“I am,” she answered coldly. “Who are you?”
“I am Reverend Harold Jessup. May I come in?”
She softened a little. After all, this was a minister. She stepped aside. “Is your husband home?” he asked as he entered.
“He’s out in the corn fields. He’ll probably see your carriage and be along soon. What can I do for you?” She closed the door.
“Well, Mrs. Sanders, I’m here about…about Adam Chandler…and your daughter.”
The woman colored and frowned. “What about them? What would you know about it?”
The tall, homely but kind man removed his hat and bowed slightly. “I preach on the other side of the ridge, Mrs. Sanders, among the Cherokee. I have a church there. The Chandlers are members of that church. Adam and his father came to me last night, after their little…encounter…here at your home.”
Harriet Sanders drew in her breath and eyed him narrowly. “And do you, a preacher, approve of what that Cherokee boy and our daughter have been up to?”
Jessup smiled, a twinkle in his eyes. “The only thing they have been ‘up to,’ Mrs. Sanders, is love. They’re terribly in love. It’s that simple. They’re good children, and truly now they are no longer children. Surely under the circumstances, you and your husband could allow them to be married. Adam Chandler is a very wealthy young man, and sincere in wanting to care for Andrea. The poor boy is just about crazy over what happened last night, and he asked if I would inquire about Andrea’s health.”
“Andrea is not here!” the woman interrupted. “And if you approve of the scandalous, sinful carryings on between those two, then you can’t be much of a minister, Mr. Jessup! Surely you don’t approve of a good Christian white girl groveling in the dirt with a heathen! That boy ruined our daughter. His lustful, devilish heart persuaded her, in her innocence, to do bad things. She has been sent away, where that Cherokee trash can no longer influence her!”
Jessup’s face reddened in repressed anger and shock. “Sent away? She was here only last night.”
“And before dawn she was gone. Do you think we’d let her stay anywhere near that boy for one more second? She’s too young to know what’s good for her. The foolish child would probably have tried to run to that boy. We’re seeing to it that she can’t.”
“But, where—”
“None of your business! Don’t you think we know the boy would try to go after her if he knew? Her father and I are the only ones who know where she has been taken, and she will not be allowed to write any letters or contact anyone. She will be assigned hard labor and long prayers to atone for her sins, and in two or three years she will be a woman, and will understand the foolish thing she did. We hope someday she will marry a man who is proper for her, and we intend to keep this ludicrous affair a secret from our friends, Reverend Jessup. You would do well to get back to the other side of the ridge and say no more about it.”
Jessup just stared at her for a moment. She was like a piece of stone. “Perhaps you think what you’re doing is the Christian thing to do,” he finally said, “but it’s wrong, Mrs. S
anders. If you love your daughter—”
“Love has nothing to do with it! There is no room for love in such matters, Reverend Jessup. There is right and wrong, no more, no less.”
He swallowed back an urge to grab her around the throat and force her to tell him where Andrea was. He was surprised at the unexpected urge, for normally there wasn’t a brutal bone in his body. Immediately he said a silent prayer for forgiveness.
“Mrs. Sanders, I urge you to reconsider. Think about your daughter, her feelings, her happiness. Adam Chandler is an intelligent, progressive young man who will one day inherit his father’s wealth.”
“His father’s wealth will be short-lived, if the Georgia citizens have their way,” Harriet Sanders replied coolly. “And they will. Valuable farmland should not be owned by mere savages. It should belong to white men who know what to do with it.”
Jessup glared at her then. “The Cherokee run some of the finest farms in Georgia. They don’t need white men to tell them what to do with the land. And in all my travels, the Cherokee are some of the finest people I’ve ever met. At the moment I can honestly say that most of them know more about being Christian than you do, Mrs. Sanders! Perhaps you’d do well to reread the Bible, especially Christ’s teachings in the New Testament—about love and forgiveness, and about not judging others!” He put on his hat. “You’re no mother, Mrs. Sanders, and right now I’m wondering if you’re even human.”
He opened the door and went outside, to find Morgan Sanders was approaching the house. As he walked up to him, Sanders frowned. “Something we can do for you, mister?”
Jessup glared at him, seeing the same stern, cold look in Morgan Sanders’s eyes that he’d seen in his wife’s. “Probably not,” he answered. He untied his horse and climbed into his buggy. “When you and your wife decide the only really important thing is your love for your daughter, your concern for her happiness, come over to New Echota and see me.”
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