Heart's Surrender

by Rosanne Bittner

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll write him right away.”

  Miss Darcy urged the woman out into the hallway and then closed the door. “Be sure he is never told where the boy was sent. The child’s identity must be kept secret, and the girl must come to believe that he truly did die. You understand, Lillian.”

  The woman nodded. “Like the others.”

  Miss Darcy nodded. “Like the others.”

  Morgan Sanders set the letter aside. “The child has been given away to the orphanage,” he told his wife. “They didn’t say if it was a boy or a girl, but it matters little. It was a bastard, either way.”

  “Is Andrea all right?” the girl’s mother asked.

  “She’ll be fine. There was some trouble with loss of blood, but she survived.”

  Harriet Sanders closed her eyes and sighed deeply. “It’s over then. I’m glad. Maybe she can come home now. Maybe the pain of childbirth has taught her a good lesson.”

  Her husband ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t think so. Miss Darcy says she’s pretty distraught over the loss of the baby. She was told it died, but Miss Darcy says she’s been very obstinate about it—won’t believe them—very stubborn and sassy. She still talks about Adam. She’ll have to stay a while longer.” He shook his head. “That boy surely did ruin our daughter, Harriet. We can only pray she’ll come to her senses. I never should have let her stay over with that Indian girl.”

  “It isn’t your fault, Morgan.”

  He gave her a contemptuous look. “We both know that well, don’t we?”

  She looked down at her lap. “I’ve paid for my lapse long ago, and she was raised in a Christian home. Sometimes a child just has to learn by his or her mistakes.”

  He grunted, rising from the table. “She’s got the seed of the lustful man who came here and filled you with it, and the seed of her mother’s curiosity about lust. I see little hope for her, for she was born out of a sinful act. What you did can be forgiven, I suppose, but she cannot help what she is because of it. It will take a lot longer at that school, a lot more hard work and learning and a few more whippings to get all that evil out of her for once and for all.”

  He walked out, slamming the door behind him. Harriet Sanders put her head in her hands and wept. She had hoped her one lustful act would not be revisited upon her, but it had, through her daughter.

  Adam threw himself into his work and his schooling. The waiting was too much, the familiar places, the old oak tree. He decided to go away again after all, using his wealth and impressive scholarly record to enroll at Harvard. He knew of no other way to bear the waiting, and his father and those in charge of the Cherokee Nation agreed that young ones like Adam should pursue an education. He was sorely needed at home to help with the legal battles constantly plaguing his people, yet the Cherokee knew that the best way to fight was to learn even more, and an opportunity to go to Harvard should not be overlooked.

  Jonas Chandler’s heart was heavy the day his son left. He was aware of the boy’s constant mourning for Andrea, the awful helplessness Adam felt at not knowing where she was. It would be good for him to go away again, to make new friends and keep his mind occupied with further education. And Jonas had no doubt that his brilliant son would come home with a law degree, for he was certain that Adam intended to plunge wholeheartedly into his schooling for the next two years, or until he received word that Andrea Sanders had come home.

  The months wore on, until the cold snows of the winter of 1827–28. Adam Chandler studied to the point of exhaustion, little realizing that only a few hundred miles away in Vermont, Andrea lived, and that for those first several months after the baby was born her mind and heart were broken. She spoke to no one, accepted her whippings silently. She spent her free time, of which there was little, staring out her window, dreaming of an Indian boy, and an old oak tree. But she had learned she must never speak his name, or talk of those beautiful times. She had learned that her only hope of ever getting out of the cold, brick prison was to pretend total submission and repentance; to work hard and study hard. To show defiance or to speak of her lover or her baby brought another whipping and avowals that she would never go home again.

  So close! They were so close to each other and didn’t even know it. Adam also spent his free time dreaming, staring out at the cold snow and thinking of Georgia, of warmth and sunshine, of green mountains and colorful wildflowers; of the oak tree and the soft grass beneath it on which he used to lie with Andrea Sanders. Had she ever really existed? Did she still exist, or was she dead? Did she still love him?

  In the summer of 1828 Adam went home for only one month, just long enough to feed some of his ideas to Elias Boudinot, for use in the brand-new newspaper, the Cherokee Phoenix, printed in both English and Cherokee. Adam agreed to send home articles about life for an Indian among the elite whites at Harvard, stories about the importance of education, as well as advice that might help his people in legal matters.

  There could not be a visit home without going to the old tree, but when he saw it again, all the pain returned. He was sure after almost two years away from Andrea that he could start forgetting her, for perhaps he must. But he could not. If only he knew for certain what had happened to her it would be easier. Yet whether she was dead or in some place where she was being cruelly treated, his heaviest burden was realizing it was his fault. Did she hate him now? Was he bad for having enticed her into letting him make love to her? Others probably saw it that way, but not Adam. He still considered her his wife, and since that was so, how could he forget her or give up on her? How could he stop loving her, when she was surely alive…somewhere. Andrea! Nothing had changed. He could still hear her voice, still see her hugging the tree that first day he met her, still hear her whisper his name while he invaded her, claimed his woman, his wife.

  Now his father and others were after him to see other girls, to prepare himself for the possibility of never seeing Andrea again, or perhaps for the distinct possibility that if and when he did, she would no longer be in love with him. Perhaps she would even be married to someone else. Her parents might have arranged such a thing, for it was common among her people. Adam tried to look at other girls with interest, but there were none like Andrea. Many Cherokee girls were interested in the maturing young man called Adam Chandler, so handsome, so intelligent and educated, filling out so provocatively, growing so tall and beautiful. But he was not even around most of the time, and when at Harvard, he dove into his books as though to close one was to end his life. He would not, and could not, give up hope that Andrea would someday come home; nor did Andrea give up hoping she would return.

  In the fall of 1828 Andrew Jackson was elected president, following a bitter and scandalous campaign. Enemies had been made among those in Congress, a bad omen for the Cherokee; for personal and political interests were sure to outweigh fairness when it came to the handling of Indians. And worse than that, Andrew Jackson was an advocate of Indian Removal. Their fight was getting harder, and rumors of the Georgia Militia possibly raiding and harassing the Cherokee grew stronger, making people afraid to step outside at night. The cloud over Cherokee land was growing ever darker. Whites surrounded it, hungry to have that land for themselves. Georgia citizens cried out for help from the federal government to get the Indians out, but there were too many Indian sympathizers among the voting constituents in the North for the federal government to act too quickly, in spite of Jackson’s own support of Indian Removal.

  Bitter fighting ensued in Congress. It began to split the North and the South. Southerners claimed that it was easy for Northerners to point their fingers at the South and to say that Southerners were being cruel to the Indians who still occupied their land. After all, most of the Indians in the North had already been exterminated or pushed westward. The South felt the North had no right to stick its nose into Southern affairs. Since large numbers of Indians still lived in the Southern states, Southerners felt it was time they left.

  Cherokee leaders l
ike John Ross, Elias Boudinot, and John Ridge had their hands full fighting constant legal battles, traveling back and forth to Washington with petitions and arguments. The future looked most unpromising for the Cherokee when Adam came home with his degree in the summer of 1829. He went right to work for the Cherokee Phoenix: editing, writing articles, and delivering copies of the paper to Cherokee villages in the mountains.

  In the autumn of that year he turned nineteen but looked even older, for he was broad and tall and well built. A lingering memory of his first love still ached in his heart, and although he had begun to socialize, he was unable to take any real interest in another girl. He had had only one sexual encounter in three years since Andrea had gone away, that night, when in a drunken agony over her, he had violently bedded an accommodating farm girl while on a short visit home. But even then in his mind it was Andrea he wanted.

  Now his hope was fading; her face becoming harder to remember. He knew that somehow he must go on with life, must tend to his manly needs and find a new love. He couldn’t go through his whole life waiting for someone who might never come. At least that was what his father kept telling him, and what others suggested out of sincere concern for his health and happiness. Sometimes he was almost grateful for the growing political problems and the constant legal battles. They kept him working long into the night, to the point of exhaustion, so that he fell asleep with little effort. As soon as he awoke, he refused to let himself lie about and think of Andrea. He was immediately up and back to work. His parents and friends worried about him, and Reverend Jessup had talked to him several times. Adam had tried to take their advice. He knew they were right. He must face reality and think about the future.

  But the past haunted him constantly. He was certain that Andrea was out there…somewhere…that she might come home. He had truly loved her. That was what none of them understood. They equated his feelings with puppy love, young love that could easily be forgotten. But it wasn’t that way at all, and he couldn’t believe it was that way for Andrea. Surely if she was alive she still loved him, wherever she was. And wrong as he knew it was, he still visited the oak tree, as often as possible. Each time he went to it, he hoped that by some miracle he would find her there, and each time he was again disappointed.

  The leaves were turning. Andrea knew that if they didn’t let her go home this time, she would spend her fourth winter in this cold and ugly place. She was seventeen now, a woman, old enough to know her own mind. Yet she had never once stopped loving Adam Chandler, although she had long ago stopped talking about him, stopped asking about her baby. Yes, she had learned her lesson, but not in the way Miss Darcy and the others smugly thought. She had learned how to fool them, learned that to fight them only prolonged her stay and made things harder for her. She would play their game now. She would be humble and submissive, show shame and repentance for her past “sins,” but never would she truly believe them to be sins, not in her own heart. She worked like a slave, and she demonstrated a gift for learning, quickly absorbing French and Spanish, learning proper etiquette, practically memorizing the entire Bible.

  Her hair had been cut short again not long after the baby was born, for she had been full of sinful thoughts and words, or so Miss Darcy said. She had called Miss Darcy a liar, and she had continued to pine away for Adam. But the clipped hair and several whippings had soon made her understand what she must do. Her only goal became to get out, to get back to Adam. She had decided to go to the Cherokee, knowing that even if Adam no longer wanted her, he would help her find a way to go to a place where she could start over. She was determined not to go home. She never wanted to see her parents again. They had done this to her.

  And so she had become a model student. She had stopped talking about Adam. She had pretended to accept her baby’s death. But she had not. She never would. And not seeing the child that she had carried in her womb for nine months, the child she had suffered so terribly to deliver—Adam Chandler’s son—would leave a bitter, painful void in her soul for the rest of her life. She would never hold him, never see him, touch him, nurture him. It would have been wonderful to take a son home to Adam, hard at first, but Adam would have understood. He would have loved the boy and been proud of him. How sad he would be if he knew. Her baby! Her heart cried out for her baby!

  But she sat silent now, in Miss Darcy’s office. Again she had come up for review. She had been industrious. She had been obedient. She had passed all her courses, and was a fully educated young lady, ready to go out into the world. Miss Darcy came into the room then, carrying an envelope. She sat down across the desk from Andrea, a gold cross hanging around her neck. Andrea wanted to laugh at the cross, for in her eyes there was nothing Christian about Miss Darcy.

  “Well, Andrea, you have been here a little over three years now,” the woman stated. “I must say, you were a difficult one in the beginning. Still, if it were not for the baby, it might have been easier for you. And for the past two years you have been a model student. I’m very proud of your progress.”

  “Thank you, Miss Darcy,” the girl replied quietly. “I guess I just needed to grow up a little, to understand what a foolish child I was. For the rest of my life I will regret what I did. But I will try to overcome my shame, and lead a Christian life. I think perhaps I will never marry, Miss Darcy. I’d like to work in the missionary field. Then one day I may help other young girls as you do here.”

  The woman beamed. “Why, thank you, Andrea! I consider that quite a compliment. And with all that you have learned, your languages and all—and with what you have learned about the consequences of sin—I think you would make a wonderful contribution to the missionary field. Is there any church or missionary school to which you would like to be referred?”

  Andrea tried not to reveal her building excitement. Were they really letting her go? Her heart pounded wildly.

  “I’d like to go home and think about it, Miss Darcy. I have so many things to consider. And I miss my parents. Perhaps in January I could enroll in a school. I would like to serve in a country overseas, if possible.”

  “Wonderful! Your parents will be very proud, I’m sure.” She leaned back and studied Andrea as though the young woman were her own personal creation. “You’re an exceedingly beautiful girl, Andrea. Remember that. Devilish boys and young men will be eying you. You must be strong and always remember what you’ve already been through because of your moment of weakness. Remember that the work of the Lord is much more glorious than marriage and children. But if you should weaken, you must marry, and then be a devoted wife and mother. Marry a good, Christian man, Andrea, an honorable man of good family, one who commands respect.”

  “If I marry, I will do just that,” she answered, smiling inwardly, for Adam Chandler was all of those things. Yes, if Adam still wanted her, she would be a devoted wife to him.

  Miss Darcy rose. “Andrea, I’m letting you go because I’ve seen wondrous changes in you. I’ll send a messenger to notify your parents that you are coming, and—”

  “Oh, please don’t tell them, Miss Darcy! I want to surprise them. Please!” She did not want her parents looking for her, waiting for her, expecting her; for she had no intention of going home. And this way, by the time they knew she had been let go, it would be too late.

  Miss Darcy nodded. “All right. I think that’s a fine idea. I have some papers you should take with you, and a letter of recommendation for the school you might choose, or you might present it to a minister or an employer should you seek work.” She handed the girl the envelope. “There is also a diploma in here, certifying that you have received a Christian education. You may pack your things today, and in the morning we will have a coach ready for you. Your fare will be covered by the fee your parents have been paying.”

  “Thank you, Miss Darcy. I…I’ll miss you.” The words almost stuck in Andrea’s throat. The woman had wanted complete surrender. She had given it to her, on the surface. But never would she surrender her heart, her love for Adam
Chandler. She would hold onto that forever, whatever happened to her, whether Adam still wanted her or not.

  “We’ll miss you, too, Andrea. Hurry up to your room now and pack your things.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” She actually went up to the woman and hugged her. It was the most difficult thing she had ever done. She turned then, and hurried up to her room, wanting to laugh, scream. She was climbing these cold marble stairs for the last time. How many times had she mopped and polished them? She would sleep in the horrible little barred room for one more night. But she wouldn’t sleep well, for tomorrow she was going home! Home! She was certain that she would lie awake all night, watching, waiting, afraid something would go wrong or Miss Darcy would change her mind. Was it really true?

  Adam! Her heart pounded so hard her chest hurt. Would he still be at New Echota? Would he still love and want her? How much had he changed? What would he say when she told him she’d had his baby? Adam! She was afraid to even think of him, afraid Miss Darcy would sense her thoughts and make her stay. Adam! She was not going home at all. She would go to New Echota, and no one would stop her! And if Adam Chandler still wanted her, she would never leave him again. She would live among the Cherokee, suffer whatever might come to them, learn their ways, have Adam’s children.

  A lump rose in her throat. What had happened to her little son? He would be two years old now, wherever he was. But she didn’t dare ask about him, at least not until she was safely away from this place. All she could do in the meantime was pray for him, and hope that, wherever he was, he was safe and well. All was in God’s hands now, and only by some miracle would she ever see or hold her little boy. At present she could do nothing except remain quiet and get out of this horrible place, then go home—to New Echota and to Adam!

  Chapter Eleven