“You tell your Cherokee friends to start getting out now!” he shouted. “Jackson’s pets will get theirs just like we did! You make it harder for all of us, Cherokee, so get out now. Or are you wealthy bastards paying somebody off to let you stay? Huh? Is that it?”
By the time Adam got his rifle reloaded, the man had disappeared into the trees. A moment later he heard horses riding off. Adam bent over, panting. Everything hurt. His head reeled, and the ground kept trying to come up and meet him. His leg felt on fire, and a great thirst began to build in him. He grasped his saddlehorn, managed to get his left foot into the stirrup. He clung to his rifle and groaned as he swung the wounded leg over the saddle. He leaned down then, his face against the horse’s neck, panting with pain and near unconsciousness. After a moment’s rest he raised up, sliding the rifle back into place and daring to look at his leg.
His pants were already soaked with blood. He took a bandana from around his neck and tied it around his leg just above the wound. Praying he could reach home before loss of blood made him pass out, he urged his horse into motion, glad it was a dependable mount who knew the way. He had to get back as fast as possible…home, home to Andrea. He couldn’t die without seeing Andrea again.
Andrea heard his horse and waited for the familiar footsteps on the porch. It was after dark. Adam had never been this late before, but she had forced herself not to worry, for the baby’s sake. She breathed a sigh of relief, certain Adam was coming, but after a moment she looked at the entrance to the parlor. No one had come in. She rose from her chair with much effort, lumbering to the hallway and calling to the kitchen to Adam’s father. His parents had come to stay with her at night while Adam was gone, Andrea preferring to stay in her own house. Jonas came from the kitchen, where he had been drinking coffee and studying further petitions.
“What is it?”
“Someone rode up. But no one came to the door.”
Jonas frowned, hurried back to the kitchen, and returned with a rifle in his hand. Andrea’s heart pounded.
“Get back in the parlor,” he told her as he went to the door.
Andrea listened. She did not move.
“Who’s out there?” Jonas called out.
There was only a faint reply, but Andrea recognized the voice.
“Adam! It’s Adam!” She hurried back out into the hall, but Jonas put his arm out and pushed her against the wall.
“Stay back!” He opened the door cautiously. In the light of the oil lamp outside the door he could see his son, still on his horse, leaning over and struggling to get down.
“Help me…Father.”
“Good God!” Jonas set the rifle aside and hurried out, followed by Andrea, who screamed her husband’s name as he slumped off the horse into his father’s arms. Adam was much bigger than Jonas, and the older man could not hang on to his son.
“Adam!” Andrea screamed again. She hurried down the steps and went to his side, hardly able to bend over to him due to her size. “No! No!”
Rose Chandler, who had come running at the screams, gasped when she saw her son.
“We’ve got to get him inside,” Jonas told her. “Stay here by him. I’ll go get some help—the doctor.” He quickly mounted Adam’s horse and rode off, and Rose hurried back inside to get a pillow and blanket.
Andrea bent over him, saying his name over and over, running her hands over his torn and dirty clothes. His face was bruised, and he was covered with dirt and scrapes. It was too dark to see very well, and she gasped when her hand touched a warm wetness on his pantleg. She held up her hand and saw the red blood. “My God!” she whispered. Her hand started to shake, and she stared wide-eyed at Rose, who had returned and was placing a pillow under Adam’s head. The older woman looked at Andrea’s hand and saw the terror in the girl’s eyes. She grasped Andrea’s wrist firmly.
“Don’t you let go, Andrea. Don’t break apart. Remember the baby. He’ll be all right, and the most important thing you can do for him now is have a nice healthy baby.”
Andrea continued to shake as she stared at the blood, but Rose jerked her arm and the girl finally met her eyes.
“Stay calm, Andrea. If you love him, stay calm, and remember that baby.”
A sob convulsed Andrea as she looked down at Adam. “His leg…it’s covered with blood. His pants…they’re soaked with it.”
Her mother-in-law felt along the leg, forcing herself not to gasp or panic. Then she put a blanket over her son and hurried back inside, while Andrea leaned down and kissed her husband’s forehead, smoothing back his hair, gently kissing his facial bruises.
“Adam, don’t die. I couldn’t live…not without you.”
He opened his mouth and she leaned close. “Creeks,” he whispered. His body shuddered. “Shot me…got to get…to Andrea.”
“You have, darling. You’re with me. You’ll be all right. Don’t die, Adam! Promise me. Remember the baby!”
“An…drea,” he whispered. He tried to reach for her, but was simply too weak. His mother returned with scissors and gauze, as well as an oil lamp.
“Hold the lamp, Andrea, while I cut off the pantleg and wrap the wound. We’ve got to slow the bleeding.”
The girl’s heart pounded, and she felt sick when she held up the lamp. She had never seen so much blood. To know it was Adam’s was even more terrifying.
But again she forced herself to be strong. The baby! Rose was right. She must remember the baby, for Adam’s sake. The woman worked quickly, cutting off the pantleg and wincing as she pulled away the part that was sticking due to dried blood. “I just pray that the bone wasn’t damaged. It looks like this could have happened early this morning, maybe even yesterday. I pray to God the wound doesn’t get infected.” She handed Andrea the gauze. “I’ll go get some whiskey to pour over it. The men should be back soon.”
She hurried away again, and Andrea stared at Adam’s leg. Her beautiful, muscular Adam, wounded. He was not the type to give up a fight. What more would happen to him if he lived through this? His mother returned with whiskey and a glass of water, knelt down. She set the whiskey aside and held the water to his lips.
“Adam. Son. Try to drink this. You need water, Adam,” she said softly. She raised his head slightly and he groaned, seeming to rouse a little again, taking a sip. He coughed then.
“Andrea.”
“She’s right here, Adam. She’s all right, and so will you be.”
Andrea held the lamp in one hand; with the other she reached out and took Adam’s hand. “It’s all right, Adam. You’ll be all right,” she told him, trying hard to sound strong.
Rose opened the whiskey, and poured it gingerly over his leg. As he moaned and his body jerked, Andrea fought back tears. Her husband was in such pain. As Rose began to wrap gauze around the leg, Adam called for Andrea again. She squeezed his hand.
“I’m right here, Adam.”
“The…baby…”
“The baby is still in my belly. I didn’t have the baby yet, Adam. I’m all right, and so is the baby.”
His mother applied pressure to slow the bleeding, and he cried out from the pain just as several men rode up, among them Dr. Cunningham. He immediately went to Adam’s side, replacing Rose.
“His leg, Dr. Cunningham,” Andrea said. “He’s been shot! He’s lost so much blood!”
The doctor quickly checked Adam over, saw no sign of other bullet wounds. “Get him inside right away,” he told the men. Four of them hurriedly lifted Adam, and as they did so he groaned and called out Andrea’s name. She set the lamp down, and Jonas helped her get to her feet. He felt her tremble.
“You, young lady, get to a bed and lie down,” the doctor told her.
“No! I want to be with Adam!”
“You’re better off waiting until I’m through with him.”
“No! I want to be with him! Please! I’ll feel better if I’m with him. He might need me.”
The doctor could see that her panic was building. “All right. But
you’ll sit at the head of the bed, and do nothing more than hold his hand and comfort him. I may have to cut that leg open, and I don’t need you passing out on me or going into labor. This isn’t good for you. Not good at all.”
“I’ll be all right,” she assured him. “I can be strong for Adam.”
The doctor smiled and patted Andrea’s shoulder. She looked at Jonas then, and at the men who had come along. “He told me…it was Creeks that did it,” she told them.
“Creeks!” The small group of men muttered the word, and John Ross stepped forward. “Are you sure?”
She nodded. “Maybe he was just delirious. But that’s what he said.”
Ross’s face darkened, “Some are wondering why our homes and farms haven’t been attacked yet,” he said. He looked at Jonas. “The white man is very clever at knowing how to keep the Indians divided, isn’t he?”
Jonas’s eyes saddened. “He always has been.” He put an arm around Andrea, and helped her inside, leading her to the bedroom where Adam now lay, already stripped. His mother was bathing him while the doctor laid out instruments. Andrea breathed deeply and rested a hand on her belly. There he lay, maybe dying, in the very bed where he had planted his life in her belly during those beautiful moments when they were one. She forced herself to walk to the bed, took a washcloth from her mother-in-law, and sat down at the head. Then she gently washed his face.
“You’ll be all right, darling,” she told him softly.
His eyes opened, and he actually managed a half-smile. “You’re…fatter every time…I come back home.”
Her eyes teared and she smiled back. “You have no one but yourself to blame.”
His eyes drooped shut again, and the doctor leaned over him, forced a brown medicine down Adam’s throat. “You just let this stuff put you into a nice deep sleep, young man. Then you won’t feel a thing till I’m all done with you.” He glanced at Andrea. “You sure you want to stay?”
She kept smoothing back Adam’s hair. “I’m sure.”
The next hour and a half was spent in near silence, except for occasional groans from Adam, the clink of the doctor’s instruments, and the few quiet orders he gave to Rose and Jonas. Andrea didn’t watch. She just kept stroking her husband’s hair, talking to him now and again. When the doctor probed for the wicked piece of shot still in Adam’s leg, Adam went rigid and cried out, in spite of the heavy painkiller he’d been given. But his ordeal was soon over, the wounded leg drenched in alcohol and stitched and tightly wrapped. The doctor quickly examined the rest of Adam’s body. It was covered with bruises—large purple ones over the ribs and stomach muscles—but no broken bones.
“Must have got into quite a tussle before he was shot,” Cunningham muttered. “I wonder how many there were and what condition they’re in. Adam doesn’t go down easy.”
Andrea kept smoothing his hair. “I hope they’re all dead,” she said coolly.
“You shouldn’t hope for that. With all the trouble going on around here, we don’t need another war with the Creeks.” He patted her arm. “Come away now. We’ll cover him up and let him sleep.” Only then did he notice the perspiration on her face, the ashen gray color of her skin. “Andrea? My God, girl, are you in labor?”
“It takes a long time. I…wanted to stay with him…until I knew he was all right.”
The doctor looked at Rose in alarm. “Have someone go and get Mrs. Jessup. Where should I take her?”
“Across the hall—the spare bedroom.” Rose quickly went to send someone for Margaret Jessup, while the doctor helped Andrea to a bed.
“But Adam—”
“He’ll be fine now. The flesh was torn badly, but the bone is intact. If he lies still and we get plenty of liquids down him, he’ll be all right, Andrea. His biggest problem is loss of blood, but now that the bleeding is stopped, he’ll be all right. Don’t let him come around just to find out you lost a baby because you wouldn’t do what you’re supposed to do. Now come to the other room. It’s time you presented Adam with a fine new son or daughter, isn’t it? How long have you been having pains?”
She finally met his eyes. “Since he first got here.”
The doctor shook his head. “Come on, young lady.”
She grasped his arm and walked with him, bending over once with pain before she got to the other room. “Adam,” she whispered. She’d wanted him with her. Now she had to be strong and brave, and do this without him. At least he was home, alive. “You must…be so tired, Doctor,” she muttered. “Everything…is happening at once.”
“Don’t worry about me. It’s you and that young man who matter, and your baby.”
Adam stirred, fighting whatever it was that kept him so groggy. Something was wrong with Andrea. Someone said something about being in labor. Andrea? Was she having the baby? He opened his mouth to call her name, but nothing came out. When he tried to move, pain shot through him like a knife. In his sedated state he was sure Andrea was screaming for him. Suddenly he felt men beating on him, felt the hot pain in his leg, saw a gun flashing. Andrea! Had something happened to Andrea? Was it the militia? “My wife and daughter raped repeatedly…” someone had said. Whose wife and daughter? Would that happen to Andrea? No. Never! Again he struggled, certain he’d heard her scream again. He must get to her. He must save her from the militia. Wake up. He must wake up!
Chapter Fifteen
Adam stirred, sure he’d heard his name called. Pain shot through his leg and he winced, then rubbed his eyes, trying to remember everything. Men. Men beating on him. A gun firing. Again he felt pain and his breathing quickened. He opened his eyes, ready to fight, but soon realized he was in his own bedroom. He sat up slightly, looking around in confusion. The sky was colored a brilliant pink by the awakening sun.
Then he heard it again, this time for certain, his name being cried out. Andrea! Was it the baby? He threw off the covers and saw that he was naked, his right thigh heavily wrapped and slightly bloodstained. The gunshot. Yes, he remembered now! He’d been shot in the leg. Creeks had attacked him and he’d fought back. He felt pain in his right hand. It was black and swollen, and apparently sprained.
Andrea cried out again. “The baby!” he muttered. Surely he had turned up here in a bad state. The shock of it must have brought on her labor. He should be with her. He’d promised.
He sat up, gritting his teeth against the pain as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. The room seemed to spin then, and he grasped a bedpost. “Mother! Father! Who’s out there? Where is Andrea?” he shouted. No sooner did he get out the words than his father came into the room.
“Adam! Lie back down, son. You’ve lost much blood!”
“Get me some pants.”
“Adam, the doctor said—”
“Goddamn it, find me some pants, Father! I have to go to Andrea! I promised her! I’ll go in there naked if I have to!”
Jonas sighed and went to a closet. Taking out a pair of his son’s trousers, he brought them to him. “Where do you keep your underwear?”
“Forget the underwear. Help me get these on. Please!”
The man slid the pants over Adam’s feet. “You should not be doing this, Adam.”
“It doesn’t matter. How the hell long has she been in labor?” He gritted his teeth and grasped the bedpost, standing up on his good leg. Jonas slid the pants up and buttoned them.
“All night,” he answered. “The doctor says the baby is not positioned right. He will have to turn it. It will be very painful for her, but if he does not do it and get the baby born, it will die, and Andrea could die, too.”
“My God! And no one came to get me?”
“Adam, you have been unconscious or in a deep sleep this whole time. It was you we’d first thought might die. Even now you should not be up. It will only upset her more to see you up when you shouldn’t be. She has been very strong and brave. She is determined to give you a child.”
The man put an arm around his son’s waist. “Lean on me.”
/> “She wants one, too, Father,” Adam said. “She needs this baby very badly. God can’t let anything happen to it.”
Jonas helped his son cross the hall; then knocked on the door of the spare bedroom. Adam was met with “You shouldn’t be up” and “You must lie down. You’ve lost too much blood.” But he insisted that Jonas help him to the bed, where Andrea lay covered for the moment. The doctor was washing his hands. Rose stood nearby ready to help, and Mrs. Jessup was bending over, wiping Andrea’s brow.
“Adam, this is very bad for you,” the doctor grumbled. “You’ll open up that leg again.”
“I don’t care! I promised her I would be with her.”
Andrea stirred, her face as white as the sheets, her eyes dark and hollow-looking. Was it really Adam’s voice she’d heard? He had not died?
“Andrea.” He spoke softly, close to her ear, and she felt a gentle kiss. “I’m here, Andrea. You’ll be all right.”
She opened her eyes, to look up through blurred vision at his dark face. She did not have to see clearly to know it was him. “Adam. Your…leg…” She could not finish; another pain tore mercilessly at her insides. She took quick deep breaths, then cried out, this time muffling her cry in his shoulder.
He took the wet cloth from Mrs. Jessup then, and gently wiped the sweat from her face. “Don’t think about me, Andrea. Just think about the baby. I promised you I would be here, and I am.”
It didn’t matter to her now what the doctor did. She had been terrified when he’d spoken of turning the baby. But Adam had come to her, and she would give him a child no matter how much suffering it took. Still, moments later she suffered an agony she was sure was worse than any torture ever suffered. Her screams tore at Adam’s heart, her nails dug into his arms until they drew blood. He fought his own urge to scream, to weep, to tell the doctor to stop. But Cunningham had no choice in the matter. He must turn the baby or lose both mother and child.
When it was over Andrea collapsed against the pillow, seemingly lifeless. Adam clung to her hands as, finally, the deep pains of birth began to consume her, her muscles working of their own accord. She was suddenly too weak to cry out, and she was so white he was filled with terror. Would she die after all? The baby came almost too quickly then, and Andrea lay quiet, responding to nothing, not even her husband’s voice.
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