“I heartily agree,” John Ross replied. “But it’s a game that will keep us hopping. We must keep telling our people that they must not do anything that will give the citizens an edge against us. So far the Georgians don’t have one. The federal government has left them in a fix, telling them this is their land but not helping them get it from us; and the eyes of the world are on them. The best thing we ever did was educate ourselves. We have shown the world how we can take care of ourselves and even be wealthy. Some of us have even visited other countries. Now we must demonstrate our intelligence and authority. Believe me, there is a lot of sympathy out there for our cause, and the more we keep people aroused, the better off we are.”
“Well, our illustrious Congressman Lumpkin certainly won’t sit back and take any of this lightly. I think he burns the oil all night, thinking of ways to trick us,” Boudinot grumbled. His eyes moved to Adam. “How are things going with you, son? You’ve been a great help to us, you know, and I still expect you to help me with the newspaper.”
Adam nodded, his eyes showing the strain of his suffering. “I will be glad to help you, sir. And I am fine, thank you.”
“Well, you don’t look fine. Have you heard anything about that girl?”
Adam held his gaze, feeling the others looking at him. “No, sir. Reverend Jessup has made inquiries, but he has come up with nothing. I am just hoping she will return home soon.”
Boudinot frowned. “It isn’t easy for a Cherokee man to love a white woman. My poor wife went through hell. The stir up at Cornwall resulted in the closing of the school. But my wife never stopped loving me, and I’ll wager that whatever has happened to that little girl you love, she won’t stop loving you either.”
John Ross gave the boy’s shoulder a squeeze. “We all hope for the best, Adam. We’re damned sorry about what happened last year. But remember how careful you have to be. Don’t go looking for revenge. We’re walking on eggs.”
Adam sighed and nodded. “Yes, sir. I think I’ll go outside for some fresh air.” He turned and left, and the men watched him go, some of them shaking their heads.
Adam made his way outside, where two girls stood giggling with a couple of Cherokee boys. They were the kind a young man could have an easy time with, but Adam had no desire for such things now. If he couldn’t be with Andrea, he didn’t want to be with anyone.
“Adam! Adam Chandler, is it you?” One of the girls left the group and sauntered up to him in the dim light of the moon. “It is you!” She giggled, her dress hung open, revealing part of a breast. Her hair was tangled. She ran a finger over the front of his shirt, unbuttoning part of it. “Don’t you remember me?” She kissed his chest and he stood rigid, trying to remember: She looked familiar. “God, I love Cherokee boys,” she purred. “I’ve learned so much the past year. I could show you a hell of a time, Adam, give you a lot more than that stupid Andrea ever—”
She gasped then, as he grasped her wrist painfully. “Mary! You’re Mary Means!”
“You let go of me! You’re hurting my arm!”
He planted his other hand tightly around her throat, half lifted and half dragged her by the neck around the side of the building. His grip was so tight she could barely breathe, let alone talk. He shoved her to the ground, planting a knee in her stomach. “Where is she!” he growled. “Where is Andrea!”
He released her throat slightly so that she would squeak out a reply. “I don’t know! Honest to God, I don’t know!”
“You do! You goddamned slut! You’re the one who told, aren’t you? You stinking little piece of white trash! You told on her and now they’ve sent her away! Where? Where did they send her?”
He drove his knee into her even harder and she started crying. “Honest, Adam. I don’t know. They won’t tell.” She choked on a sob. “All I know is they told my folks…that they decided to send Andrea away to school. They never…said where…never answered when my folks asked. They didn’t even mention…anything about you…or any boy…I swear to God! So I never said anything either. But I…I never thought it meant…that much to you.”
“That’s right! You never thought! Andrea was supposed to be your best friend. She was a good girl. She never did anything to you. But you were so damned jealous of her. You aren’t worth the dirt under her feet!” He squeezed her throat harder again. “Oh, how I would love to kill you! How I would love it!” He squeezed harder and harder, until suddenly someone was pulling him off her. Strong arms grabbed him away, but not without difficulty. Tears were streaming down his face, and his eyes were hard and filled with hatred. “Slut! Filthy, stinking slut!” he roared.
“Calm down, Adam.” It was the Reverend Jessup’s voice.
“Harm her and you’ll have a white mob on us.” It was John Ross’s voice.
“She told. She told on Andrea. She’s the reason they sent Andrea away!”
“What’s done is done, Adam!” John Ross said sternly. “She isn’t worth being hanged.”
The other white girls were helping Mary up. She was choking and crying. “I’ll…have you arrested!” she sputtered.
“Try it! Then try explaining what you were doing here, slut!” Adam countered. “Go ahead! Explain to your God-fearing parents why you were over here at a dance flirting with Cherokee boys!” He grinned at the fear in her eyes. “You won’t tell on me. You can’t! Because you’d be in a lot more trouble than I would. Go on home, white trash! Go home where you belong—and don’t come back here!”
The girl ran off, and as the others ran after her, Adam jerked his arms away from the men who held him. Andrea! Seeing Mary Means, hearing her mention Andrea’s name, had brought everything back to him, vividly, painfully. He wiped angrily at his eyes.
“Are you all right, Adam?” John Ross asked him.
“No! I’ll never be all right—not until Andrea comes back!”
“Don’t do something foolish, Adam,” the reverend warned.
“Don’t worry!” Adam sneered. He stormed off into the darkness, his body on fire for his Andrea, his heart pounding for her, his mind full of her. For a moment he’d hoped he had an answer, but he’d seen in Mary’s eyes that she truly didn’t know where Andrea was being kept. All hope was gone again, and for him there was no spring.
Chapter Ten
The pain was much worse than Andrea had ever dreamed it might be. This was a time when she should have had her mother with her, but she was without mother, father, or friends. She wanted Adam most of all, and she knew that if he knew what was happening and where she was, he would be there. She was having his child, and somehow she would get back to him with her precious baby. He would be surprised and pleased. They would marry and be happy forever. All she had to do was survive this birth and get out of this place. That thought was the only thing that kept her from going crazy with fear and loneliness. At least now, she told herself, she would have her baby to hold and love. She would not be so alone.
She lay on her little cot in the tiny room she had lived in for nearly nine months. Part of the time she was alone. No doctor had been summoned for Miss Darcy was to take care of the delivery; and she came in only occasionally to check the progress of the baby. When the gripping, black pain engulfed Andrea, she screamed and wept alone, terrified of what was happening to her, too young to understand it, unable to talk to anyone beforehand about what to expect in childbirth. Her body was still not really mature enough for this; her young muscles and narrow hips were fighting the inevitable. Over and over she cried for Adam. If only he were here! He would have brought a doctor; he would have sat by her side, would have told her how much he loved her, how proud he was of her; he would be so happy to be having a child.
Adam! Sweet Adam! Every time the pain rose again, she screamed his name. Never had she been so frightened. Would she die in this little room? Would they even bother to tell anyone if she did? If only someone she knew and loved were here…If only a real doctor were here…She didn’t like Miss Darcy coming in and looking at her, pok
ing at her. The woman was cold and unfeeling. She didn’t explain anything, didn’t give her any instructions on how to make the baby come easier. Andrea wondered if Miss Darcy had ever even been with a man. No wonder she didn’t care about Andrea’s suffering. She was a woman without feelings. Devoid of love and passion, she lived by a book of rules that left no room for emotion or human error. Already she had talked of how glad she would be when the baby was born, because then Andrea could get back to full-time duties. She treated her like a tool that had broken down.
The pain grew worse. Its claws ripped at her insides without mercy now, almost constantly. She wondered how much more she could take. The labor had gone on for nearly twenty hours. Finally Miss Darcy returned, this time announcing that the baby was coming and she would stay. From then on, Andrea had no control over what happened Her body took over. She could not stop the baby from coming, in spite of her terror of that happening. The child had decided it was time to enter the world, no matter how painful that entrance might be for its young mother. And Andrea had no choice but to let the horrible Miss Darcy help her, for a blackness swept over her and she felt that her insides were suddenly being expelled. Surely she was dying.
The worst pain suddenly ended, and she lay limp and exhausted, nearly unconscious. She heard someone say something about “cleaning him up.” A boy! She’d had a boy! Adam had a son! She groaned his name, but she couldn’t move or open her eyes. Someone was pushing hard on her stomach then, making her scream. She heard talk about heavy bleeding, felt something being packed against her. Whatever was happening, she would live, for she had a son now. She would rest and get well, become healthy. Soon they would bring her baby back to her and she would put it to her full, young breasts and nourish it. She smiled at the secret wonder of what Adam would think of her breasts now. They weren’t small anymore. They were heavy with milk for his son.
But then she felt something being wrapped tightly around her breasts. Why were they doing this? So tight! Something tight around her chest, squeezing her painfully full breasts so that it was hard to breathe. She wanted to object but was too weak. Why was everything so black?
“They’ll be painful for a while,” someone said. “But eventually the milk will dry up. Are they here for the boy yet?”
“Yes, ma’am. They’re downstairs.”
No! What was happening? She tried to speak, but nothing would come out.
“Is it a healthy boy?” someone asked quietly.
“Very healthy, a beautiful child.”
“Well, for the record he’s dead. Remember that.”
A door closed. Andrea wanted to scream, to get up and run downstairs and find her son. Where was he? He should be lying next to her now. She had gone through hell to deliver him—Adam’s son. She had dreamed of nothing these last few months but having her baby and having something to love, something that was a part of Adam. Where was her baby? What did the voices mean? Are they here for the boy yet? What boy? Hers? For the record, he’s dead.
She tried again to scream for Miss Darcy, but only a pitiful whimper actually exited her lips. A heavy loss of blood had brought her near to death, though she didn’t realize it.
Adam stirred awake, shivering and drenched in perspiration. Something had awakened him, a strange cry. In his first sleepy thoughts it seemed he heard Andrea’s voice, calling to him. He’d fallen asleep late, after restless thoughts of Andrea; for seeing the slut Mary Means had made him desperate to find his love.
He got out of bed, leaving sheets wet with sweat. As he did so, there came a cry, from an animal in the surrounding mountains. He went to a window and threw it open, breathing in the sweet spring air. The cry came again, and his heart tightened, for somehow he knew that somewhere Andrea cried out for him.
He went to his knees, resting his arms on the windowsill and looking out at the stars in the black sky. Where was she? How long must he wait and wonder? He wanted to pray, but he felt forgotten by his God and his faith was fast dwindling.
The strange cry echoed hauntingly through the mountains. “Andrea,” he whispered. “I love you, Andrea. Wherever you are, I love you, and I will wait for you, forever if I have to.”
Thunder rolled beyond a distant hill, as though to emphasize the storm in his own soul. Was it some kind of black omen? He watched the shadows of the trees, sniffed the spring air, listened for the sounds of the night and the woods. He felt an ancient yearning to be out there, living with the animals and the trees, roaming free, hunting for his food. Out there was where he belonged, where they all belonged, not in brick houses cared for by servants. This was a good life; the natural intelligence of his people had brought them wealth. But what good did that do the Cherokee? The way the whites treated them, they might as well still be running around in the hills, half-naked and living in huts. What use was it to struggle for education and riches, when at any time the whites might decide to swoop in and take everything from them. In the minds of the white men, the Cherokee had not progressed at all. They were still Indians. Why that should matter so much baffled the young man. Why was he any different from anyone else? He’d had a great deal to offer Andrea. Her parents should have been pleased. In the beginning he had liked them, trusted them, but he had learned a hard lesson about trusting people, about prejudice. And so had Andrea. Poor Andrea.
He closed his eyes and thought hard, hoping in some way she would sense he was with her in spirit. “Hang on, Andrea,” he whispered. “Wherever you are, hang on, and come home to me. Come home to Adam.”
The thunder rolled again, mixed with the sad wail of the unknown animal. Or was it Andrea, crying in the wind?
Andrea awoke to pain and weakness. Miss Darcy was bent over her, trying to make her drink some kind of liquid.
“You’ve lost a lot of blood,” the woman told her. “But the bleeding has finally stopped. You’ll need to drink lots of liquids now to get your strength back. But you’ll be fine in a couple of weeks.” She set the cup aside after Andrea took a couple of swallows. “It’s all over now, Andrea. No more pain, no more fat stomach. You can return to your old self, go back to your studies.”
“My…baby. Where’s my baby?”
Miss Darcy sat down on the edge of the cot and took her hand. “I’m afraid the baby died, Andrea. We did all we could, but you were simply too young to be having a child. He took too long in coming, and he wasn’t breathing by the time he entered this world. I’m sorry, dear.”
Andrea just stared at her a moment, a terrible panic building in her soul. “You’re lying!” she whimpered. “My baby isn’t dead! What did you do with my baby!”
The woman’s eyes hardened. “I told you he died. When you’re well enough, I’ll take you out to see his grave. I know it’s hard to take, child, but—”
“It’s a lie! I heard you! I heard you…talking about a boy…healthy and beautiful…about someone being here to take him!”
The woman rose. “Nonsense! You were in a lot of pain, Andrea, and nearly died from loss of blood. Your mind must have been affected, dear. That can happen when a person is so far gone. I’m sorry, but it’s true. It was a boy. He died and we buried him. I know it hurts, but you must remember that he was a bastard and half-Indian. I’m sure God knew what He was doing when He chose not to let the child live. It would have been a burden to you, a constant reminder of your sins. What happened was best for you and the child. There will be more children for you someday, when you are married to a proper man and can have your children legally—that is, if a decent man will have you.”
Andrea’s breathing came in desperate gasps. She struggled to get up, but Miss Darcy pushed her back down.
“You must lie still, Andrea, or the bleeding will start all over again.”
“I don’t care! If I can’t have my baby, I don’t care if I die. What did you do with my baby! I have to take him to Adam! Please give me my baby! He’s all I have!”
“Your son is dead, Andrea!” Miss Darcy said sternly. She called for an
aide. “Bring the medicine!” she said. With her large frame and powerful arms, she had no trouble holding down the weak and crying Andrea.
“My baby! I want my baby, you fat, ugly…witch!” Andrea screamed. “You took my baby! You killed him, didn’t you? You killed my baby!”
“I did not kill him. He died the moment he came out of your womb, young lady, and you’d better watch your tongue!”
“I hate you! You’re a witch! A witch!” Andrea struggled, but to no avail. Someone came in with the brown bottle of medicine that always made her sleep. She didn’t want to sleep. She fought, keeping her mouth closed, until the aide squeezed her nose so that she was forced to open her mouth to breathe. Some of the bitter liquid was poured down her throat then, and she had no choice but to swallow it.
“You’ll understand when you’re well enough to visit the grave, Andrea,” Miss Darcy was telling her. “You’re just weak and confused right now. I’m sorry about your baby, but God knows what is best. It would not have been a happy life for him. Believe me, we do not go around killing little babies. The child died, and that is that.”
“Witch…” Andrea groaned. “Witch…somebody took him…you did something with my son…Adam’s son.”
“She still has that Indian boy on her mind,” Andrea heard Miss Darcy telling someone. “Apparently she will have to be here a good while longer before we can rid her soul of her sinful thoughts. If she hadn’t gotten pregnant, it would have been much easier. The baby only kept reminding her of that evil boy. Perhaps now, with the baby gone, she can begin to forget. Write to her father and explain that the deed is done. Tell him she’ll have to stay, perhaps another year. We must be very sure before she leaves here that she is truly repentant, and that she has rid her soul of any feelings for the Indian boy. She must be completely cleansed of her sins and of all sinful thoughts and feelings before returning home.”
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