The Cherokee delegation around him was already busy talking and planning, deciding what their next step must be. Adam only stared at the men who had so casually decided that eventually he must leave his home, his mountains, his beloved oak tree. Surely this was not really happening. How could he go home to Andrea with such news? And what if things got as bad for the Cherokee as they had become for the Creeks? The Choctaws were already gone, as were many of the Creeks. The Chickasaws would soon go, he was sure. They were confident that their long record of friendliness to the United States would save them, but Adam knew better now. Many of the Creeks and Choctaws who had already left had been harassed into going. Now that the bill had been voted through, it would be much worse, and the Cherokees could no longer be confident that horrors would not be visited upon them, even though Congress had constantly emphasized that no force was to be used. At least not yet.
His heart literally pained him. He wanted to kill. Just kill and kill—every man on the floor below, every Georgia Militiaman. Someone put a hand on his shoulder then, and he turned to face John Ross, the man who was more and more becoming their leader in the fight to stay in Georgia.
“Hang on, son. We have a lot of fight left in us yet. All this does is turn us over to Georgia, so now we’ll fight the state instead of the Federal Government. All we have to do is keep our noses clean and keep this all before the public so that anything they do illegally embarrasses the hell out of them.”
Adam swallowed. “I want to kill them all.”
Ross squeezed his shoulder. “I know. So do I sometimes. But one wrong move like that is all they need to put us away, Adam. And no matter what happens, the last thing we’ll give up is our pride. Even if they drive us into the mountain caves, we’ll keep fighting.” He glanced at Elias Boudinot, then back to Adam. “There are some who speak of getting out right now. They say it’s best for the Cherokee, and the only way to save our possessions. What do you think of that, Adam?”
The boy’s eyes teared and his jaw flexed in anger. “Never! It is the principle that is important! Let them strip me to nothing! I will not leave!”
John Ross smiled. “There are plenty who feel that way, so take hope, son.” He sighed deeply then. “But I see some bad days ahead for us, Adam. Not just from the outside, but from the inside. This thing is going to split us. I hate to think of it, but I see it coming, and when that happens, when some of us give up and leave, it will be that much harder on those who stay behind. United we can win. Divided, we’ll fall, Adam, and if we do, there will be some who pay a dear price. There will be a lot of hatred and bitterness in our own people.”
“Then we must make sure we all stand together in this.”
John Ross nodded. “I agree. But I am sorry to say that some of our people have lived so long like the white man, and have enjoyed so much wealth, that they think a little too much like white men. They worry about their possessions and wealth, and don’t want to risk losing those things. What about you? Your father is wealthy, and as his heir, so are you.”
Adam glanced at the talking, laughing men below, shaking hands, relieved that the vote was over—a vote the Cherokee had no say in. He looked back at John Ross. “Once we lived off the land. If we have to do so again to win our cause, I am ready. If I lose all I have, I will just work harder to get it back again. I am young. I have an education.”
John Ross nodded. “There are some who are not so young, who don’t have enough years to gain it all back, to start all over someplace new. They’re the ones to watch. They’ll give up first.”
“Not my father. He is not like that.”
Ross sighed deeply. “And what about that new young wife of yours? Is she strong enough to face losing everything, to face losing all that you have, to face running and hiding? It could come to that.”
Adam straightened more. “Andrea will do whatever she has to do, as long as we can be together. That is all she cares about. She has chosen a Cherokee man and she will take whatever that brings. She has already suffered for me. And now she carries my child. She will fight every step of the way, right by my side.”
Ross smiled. “Good. We can do it, Adam. You just watch.”
John Ridge approached them then, motioning all to gather around him. “I have been talking to the secretary of war, General Eaton,” he told them. “He said to tell all of you that President Jackson is going to his home in Tennessee for a vacation. Eaton and General Coffee, a relative of Jackson’s, are going along. The President wants delegations from the Southern Indian tribes to meet at Eaton’s home in Franklin to discuss this bill and its implications. He has invited the Creeks, Chickasaws, Choctaws, and Cherokees. What do you think?”
John Ross frowned. “No. We have too much planning to do. We’re going to fight this thing, and if we go right away to such a meeting it will look as though we’re giving in and have decided to go along with it.”
Boudinot looked worried. “We can’t turn down an invitation from the President, John!”
“Can’t we? We must, to show our strength and our intention to continue to fight this thing. We’ll not give up that easily. They take a casual vote, we smile and say it’s all right. We go to the meeting, where they tell us when to leave and where to go, as though it is nothing at all. I say no! We go home and start planning our next move!”
Boudinot sighed, looking upset. “What are we fighting for? A little more time perhaps. We all know how it will end, whether it be tomorrow or six years from now.”
“Six years is six years! A lot of things can change by then,” Ross argued.
“Yes—for the worse!” Boudinot shot back.
“Are you a Cherokee or not? Do you love our sacred land or not?”
Boudinot sucked in his breath, his face red. “Of course I am Cherokee! Of course I love the land! It is my home!”
“Then fight for it! My God, man, you run the newspaper. You’re educated. You have all the necessary tools. Most of us here today do. We just have to keep planning, stay a step ahead. We can’t give up this soon! We’re going to fight the whole State of Georgia!”
“And who runs Georgia,” Boudinot reminded him. “A pack of Indian haters, hungry for our land! What kind of a chance do we have!”
“We have a hell of a lot of people on our side, and practically all of the North, except for the damned Democrats. We have some great and prominent men on our side, and the whole world is watching to see what Georgia will do. We have plenty to fight with!”
Adam’s father stepped forward. “I will fight to the end. Let them take my home and my cattle and anything else. But they will not take those things easily, and they will take me last!”
John Ross nodded proudly and looked at the others. “Well?”
Boudinot scowled but nodded. “All right. We keep fighting. And we send no one to the meeting.”
Ross reached out and they shook hands. “Good. Let’s go home, Elias. Our women wait for us.”
Andrea lumbered out onto the porch, great with child. She had heard his horse, had heard him call out to one of the farmhands. She watched him coming now, his face grave. He rode close to the house and just looked at her for a moment, his eyes dropping to her huge belly. He wondered what he had to offer her now. What kind of hell would she go through for marrying a Cherokee? He swallowed, tense with the agony of having to tell her, seeing the hope in her blue eyes.
“The bill passed,” he said quietly. He dismounted then. “What are you doing here, anyway? You’re supposed to be at the reverend’s.”
“I…I asked the reverend to bring me over. I wanted to check the plants, and I needed some different clothes—”
“Do as you’re told when I’m gone!” he barked, tying the horse.
A chill swept through her, and her eyes teared. “It was only for a little while, Adam. I don’t like being away from home. I feel closer to you here.”
He came up the steps, his angry eyes suddenly softening. He grabbed her and held her close, breathi
ng in the scent of her hair. “I’m sorry, Andrea. I just don’t want anything to happen to you because you married me. I never should have gone after you. I should have left you to your own kind.”
“Oh, Adam, don’t talk silly.” Her eyes teared, and she kissed his neck, his cheek, and in the next moment their lips met, not so much in sexual desire as sheer love mixed with the fear of losing each other to outside forces. He kissed her over and over—her lips, her eyes, her cheeks, her hair—struggling not to break down. How could he not wonder about and worry over what the passage of the bill would mean to them, to her?
He kept a supportive arm around her then and helped her inside. “You’re so big you can hardly walk. Are you sure you have another month to go?”
“That’s what the doctor thinks. But he said being the second child and all, it could come a little early, and should be easier this time.”
Their eyes met. Again the first and missing child haunted them both. He was as real and alive to Andrea as though she’d held him and nursed him. Months of searching had been fruitless. This one torment he could never make up to her. Adam sighed and kissed her cheek, helped her sit down. “Did you talk to Mrs. Jessup?”
“Yes. She’s going to be with me when the baby is born.”
“Good.” He sat down wearily, running a hand through his hair and then leaning back, closing his eyes. “I have to go away again, just for a week or so. I have to deliver the news to the other villages, and get some votes as to whether or not they want to continue to fight this through the Georgia courts.”
She wanted to protest his leaving. He’d just gotten home. She was afraid when he was gone. But she had married a Cherokee and they were in trouble. She had to think of the People, the cause. She must not be a child and whimper and beg.
She put on a smile for him. “It’s all right. I think the baby can wait that long.”
He opened his eyes then and looked at her lovingly. “I’ll make the trip as quickly as possible. I’ll get an extra man to cover the eastern farms so I don’t have to ride the whole circuit.”
She nodded, forcing back tears. “Are you hungry? I’ll fix you something.” She started to get up, but it was a real effort. He rose and pushed her back into the chair.
“You stay put. You have servants, remember? And even so, I can get myself something. You don’t have to do it. How about me getting something for you?”
She sighed and rubbed a hand over her belly. “I’m not hungry.” She looked up at him then. “I’m sorry you couldn’t come home to a slender energetic wife who could welcome you to her bed after your long trip.”
He laughed lightly and put his own hand on her stomach. “I can’t imagine anything nicer to come home to than this.” He leaned down and kissed her lips. “I waited three years for you, woman. I think I can manage a few weeks, especially for such a nice cause.” He rose then, to walk to the kitchen.
“Adam?”
He turned, still smiling. “What?”
“Is it dangerous…riding to the villages? I mean…now that the bill has passed, I don’t like you out riding alone.”
He gave her a wink. “Don’t worry about me, Mrs. Chandler. You just worry about having a nice healthy baby. I’ll be in Cherokee country. I’ll be all right.”
She waited until he’d disappeared around the corner, then covered her face with her hands, trembling, not wanting him to know how frightened she was by the latest events. She had to be strong, for his sake.
“God, don’t let anything happen to him,” she prayed quietly.
Adam moved through the thick, green forests of the northern Georgia mountains he so loved. It was a lovely June day, and his heart was happy in spite of the grave news he’d carried to the villages, the long sheets of signatures he had to procure for new petitions to the state. At least today was lovely, and things were peaceful. And Andrea would have his baby at any time now. He’d been to most of the villages he was to cover. There was only one left, and then home. He’d be there tomorrow, and he’d not leave again until the baby was born.
He urged his sturdy Thoroughbred slowly along a rocky path, listening to the calls of birds, studying the colors of the flowers that sprouted among the rocks. He guided the horse forward to a small clearing in the midst of oaks and cedars, where he often made camp during his trips. Halting his horse, he dismounted, picked up a few sticks, and carried them to the little pit he’d dug out on another trip for a campfire. He gathered up a few leaves and dropped them into the small hole, put the sticks on top of the leaves.
Then something heavy fell onto him from above, knocking him to the ground, making him grunt and temporarily knocking the breath out of him. “You’ll not eat lunch today, Cherokee!” someone growled. Before he could understand what was happening two men jerked him up, each holding an arm, while a third came up to him and drove a big fist into his gut, provoking black pain and another loud grunt. Someone grabbed his hair then, and jerked his head back. “What’s your mission, Cherokee? You riding to the villages to tell your people to fight?”
Adam, struggling to get his breath, stared into the face of a Creek man. He had not expected trouble from any Creeks. “I don’t…understand.”
“No, you don’t.” The man sneered. “Has your mother or your wife been raped yet, Cherokee? Have they burned your home yet? You’ll understand when that happens!”
“You are…Creek. We are all fighting…for the same cause.”
The Creek man backed up a little, but Adam was still too stunned by the sudden attack to wrench himself away from the two who held him.
“Why is it the Creeks are already suffering, and they still have not touched the Cherokee, huh?” he asked. “Are you special? Are you smarter than the Creeks?” He spit at Adam. “All your fighting with the government is doing is making it worse for the rest of us! You Cherokees fought on Jackson’s side at Horseshoe Bend, killing many Creeks. We did not fight for the same cause then. Are you Jackson’s pets now? Is that why you still live high and free, Cherokee man?”
Adam swallowed, his anger rising. “It was different then,” he answered, his breath coming in gasps. “Then we were all foolish enough…to let the white man divide us. We must not…let that happen now. Our cause…is the same as yours. Anything the Cherokee win, the Creek win also. We are in…as much danger as you. We have only…held them off longer.”
The Creek man grinned. “You will find out how bad it can be, Cherokee! Your wife and loved ones will find out! You make the rest of us look bad when you keep fighting. You stay, so we stay—yet we are the only ones who suffer! You still have your fine homes, your land—”
“They’re doing it again, don’t you see?” Adam shot back. “They’re dividing us! They know the Cherokee will hold out to the last legal fight! They are only using you as examples, and by doing so they turn you against us, to weaken us! It is the same thing they did at Horseshoe Bend! You fall right into their plan!”
The Creek stepped closer. “I no longer have eyes to see clearly, Cherokee! My eyes only see my wife and daughter raped repeatedly while I am held back. That is what my eyes see—nothing more!” He landed another hard fist into Adam’s stomach, but Adam saw it coming and hardened his muscles against it as best he could, warding off the worst of the blow. He could see now that they intended to beat him almost to death, to use him as an example to the other Cherokees, a warning to stop fighting and get out. A fist came up into his face then, and Adam kicked up hard, landing a booted foot into the Creek’s privates.
He struggled, furious at their stupidity, wrenching himself free from one of those who held him and landing a big fist in the other man’s face, knocking him backward. He whirled then, and the third man landed a blow to the side of his head. It was made with a fist-size stone, and it was so hard it knocked Adam to the ground. His head reeled with pain and blackness, but he struggled to his knees. When someone knocked him back down, he growled with manly pride and anger, then reared up and literally threw the Cree
k off. He was bigger and stronger than any of them, but he was outnumbered.
The man he had kicked was struggling to get up, still holding himself. He whirled on the third man and landed several hard punches then, feeling pain in his hand but ignoring it. He saw the man’s lips split open, and the last blow knocked his nose sideways. That Creek went down screaming and lay writhing on the ground. The second man had recovered from Adam’s first blow and he came at him again, landing into his side. Adam grasped his hair and pulled hard, yanking the man off him. Then he scrambled to his feet and kicked hard, landing a foot in the man’s middle and then on his head.
As Adam whirled about, he saw the man he had kicked in the groin stumbling to his feet. The Creek pulled a handgun from his belt and pointed it at Adam. Before Adam could react he saw the flash from the end of the barrel, felt a searing, hot pain go through his right thigh. It knocked him backward, but he knew he had to move quickly and could not succumb to the pain and shock. He scrambled for his horse, to retrieve his rifle.
“Let’s go!” someone yelled. “Come on! Come on! I shot him, but he’s alive enough to go back and tell them how the Creeks feel! Now they’ll know!”
Adam crawled and scratched his way to his horse, grasped the stirrup and pulled himself up. He reached over the animal, pulled out his rifle, and turned with it in hand, forcing his injured leg to hold him up.
“Stupid, ignorant bastards!” he roared. He fired wildly, the pain in his leg making it impossible to aim properly. The first man fired back, the bullet narrowly missing Adam’s arm, while the other two scrambled off into the woods, one still screaming and holding his nose. The first man turned and rode toward him, firing at the ground in front of Adam while Adam tried desperately to reload.
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