Heart's Surrender

by Rosanne Bittner

  “Adam, I can’t—”

  “Yes you can. I love to look at you this way. Do not feel ashamed, agiya. You are my beautiful wife, and it is right that I enjoy you however I choose.”

  He rocked himself in a gentle rhythm, sending shivers through her, and she closed her eyes and threw her head back, feeling a certain power over her man—a strange, wonderful feeling—for he was the powerful one, so manly, so strong. Yet he whispered that she made him feel weak, that sometimes he was the conquered one. Teasing suggestive Cherokee words came from hiss lips as she gently urged her to enjoy him and throw off her inhibitions. Seeing her this way brought forth his wildest desires. He knew every inch of her, every curve, every vein, every dimple, every crease. He had explored her, invaded her, and he loved her to the marrow of his bones.

  He rolled her over then, now the conqueror, his broad shoulders hovering over her and making her feel lost and weak, his teasing kisses bringing out the fire that her shyness always fought. How wonderful to be so possessed by one man—her husband. He had every right to enjoy her however he chose, and she had the same right to enjoy him. It was give and take, erotic pleasure the reward for both.

  She was rising now, rising to the mountains, where all was sweet and beautiful, and where a golden oak tree stood waiting. And she was under it, in her husband’s embrace and under the protection of the great limbs of the oak. She was fourteen again, and he was sixteen, and there were no laws, no militia, no bigotry and hatred. There was only their sweet love.

  They danced through the night. Never had there been such celebrating among the Cherokee. And it had been a long time since laughter had been heard among them. Some who had been prepared to head westward called a halt to their plans and unpacked their belongings. They could stay! There was still some political wrangling to be done, but surely after such a Supreme Court decision, there was no argument left over their right to stay in Georgia; the missionaries would be released any day now. They danced until Andrea’s feet ached so badly that she took off her shoes. Many had wanted to join in the celebrating so two barns were used, for they couldn’t possibly all fit into one, and even then the crowd spilled outside, where people danced on the grass or lay passed out in drunken glory.

  But before the night was over the first warning came, in the form of a troop of militia. Inside Andrea and Adam were dancing when they heard shouts and a couple of screams outside. The music tapered off and everyone sobered as several soldiers rode right into the barn amid the Cherokees, led by none other than Douglas Means.

  Andrea felt the blood drain from her face, and she recognized that whimpering sound nearby was coming from Ruth, who hurriedly pushed her way through the crowd to hide behind a haystack at the back of the barn. James quickly followed her, and Douglas watched them, a smile on his face. Then his eyes moved to Rose, who stood beside Andrea, both women looking boldly back at him, as did Adam Chandler, who stepped in front of them. The crowd was hushed, and John Ross and some of the other important leaders moved to the front of it, watching Adam carefully.

  “So, the Indian boy still has his white woman,” Douglas sneered. His gaze ran over Andrea as though she were naked.

  “Get out of here, you slimy white bastard!” Adam growled. “You have no right to be here now!”

  Douglas fingered a whip and Rose cringed. “Don’t I? You Cherokees think you have won some kind of landmark case. You think you’re out of Georgia’s hands now.” His steely gray eyes moved over the rest of the crowd. “Think again, Cherokees. Georgia has no intention of obeying any Supreme Court ruling. Those judges can stick their ruling up their pompous asses!”

  “And who are you to speak for Georgia?” Adam sneered. “I should think Georgia would have more pride than to let trash like you represent her!”

  Douglas glared down at him. “You are as smart-mouthed and stubborn as your father—and as ignorant. I am surprised that with your glorious education, Chandler, you’re stupid enough to slander a militia man.”

  Adam moved closer to him, and Andrea’s heart pounded with fear. How she hated Douglas Means! It had been many years since she’d last seen him, that awful day he had pushed her down in the barn and threatened her. She felt sickened by the sight of him.

  “Man?” Adam shot back. “I see no man before me! I see a stinking coward, who is so repulsive that he cannot get a woman without tying her down and forcing her!”

  John Ross stepped closer to Adam, amid gasps at Adam’s daring, and Douglas reddened, his jaw flexing in anger. “I thought perhaps you had learned your lesson when you came home to find your homes burned, Chandler, and your women…defiled. I found your sister quite enjoyable, I must say. And my men claim that for her age your mother was surprisingly pleasing. I shall have to try your wife next.”

  Adam lunged toward him, but Douglas threw out the whip, catching Adam around the neck, its biting end cutting into his face and drawing blood. Men gasped, several women screamed, and Andrea cried out Adam’s name, but amidst all the commotion, and to Douglas’s surprise, Adam grabbed the whip and yanked, rather than trying to get out of it. And in the next second Douglas found himself landing hard on the dirt floor. He was temporarily stunned, just long enough for Adam to push a knee into his breastbone so hard that he could not get his breath. In seconds he was too weak to do anything but lie there. His men moved closer, some pulling guns, but none knew quite what to do without orders.

  Adam grasped Douglas’s hair tightly, while the crowd backed away, and Andrea was speechless with fear for her husband, who hovered over Douglas Means, his eyes wild with rage.

  “Perhaps I cannot kill you here and now, Means,” he growled. He pushed harder on the man’s chest. “But the right time will come! You see already how easily I could do it! And I warn you, white scum, if you ever touch one of my loved ones again, you will not die quickly, but you will surely die! You will want to scream for mercy, but you will not be able to scream, because your balls will be stuffed into your mouth, and you will choke on your own bloody privates! This I swear, no matter what would happen to me when I finish with you. There is no torture too great to keep me from killing you! Remember that, Douglas Means!”

  “Adam! Get off him. He can’t breathe. Don’t do this, Adam!” John Ross’s voice brought Adam back to reality, for his fury had momentarily dispelled rationality. He reluctantly let go of Douglas Means, wondering if it might be the biggest mistake he’d ever made not to kill him then and there. He spit in Douglas’s face and then got up, and Douglas rolled over, gasping for breath, bent over, and holding his chest. Adam unwound the whip from his neck, took a knife from his belt, and whisked it through the whip several times, cutting it into pieces.

  Douglas struggled to his feet, grasping his saddle, while his men watched and waited for direction. When he turned to Adam, his breath was coming in panting gasps. “You’ll…pay, Chandler! You’ll pay!”

  “Touch my woman and we’ll see who pays!” Adam hissed.

  Douglas glanced at Andrea, who faced him boldly, proud of her husband’s strength. Then he looked back at Adam. “I’ll have you arrested.”

  “Try it! Take it to the Supreme Court, white scum! I killed no one. I did not even hurt you. Once you get your stinking breath back, you will realize you cannot arrest me. There are no charges. I was defending myself, against a militia man who does not even belong here, a man who threatened my woman, who is white. You must be physically harmed before you can bring any charges. That is what you want, isn’t it? That is why you harass us. Georgia thinks we will retaliate and start a war, and you’re all pissed off because we haven’t done a thing! But you look like the bunch of fools, and the whole world is laughing at you! Now get out of here, trash!”

  The rest of the crowd closed in threateningly then, spirited by Adam’s words and by the sight of blood running from the deep cut along Adam’s jawbone. It dripped onto his white shirt, but he hardly seemed to notice the wound. Douglas Means mounted up, still breathing hard, perspira
tion on his face. He glared down at Adam.

  “There are some dark days coming for you, Adam Chandler. Mark my words!” He turned his horse and motioned for his men to leave. Everyone started talking then, some coming up and shaking Adam’s hand, thanking him for standing up to the man. Andrea dabbed at the cut with a handkerchief, and when he finally met her eyes, he saw terror in them.

  “I meant what I said and he knows it!” Adam told her. “Do not be afraid.”

  She blinked back tears, and he encircled her in his arms. The crowd was sober, their spirits dampened now, and the talk turned to the possibility that Georgia would not heed the Supreme Court decision. If not, what were they to do?

  The time for celebration was brief, as day after day the missionaries remained imprisoned. It became more apparent that Georgia did, indeed, intend to fight the decision by ignoring it. Senator George Troupe spoke through an open letter printed in a widely distributed Georgia newspaper, telling citizens that they must not give up on the question of Indian Removal; that allowing the federal courts to win placed the slavery issue in danger also. Little did the Cherokee know that their battle to stay in Georgia would become the source of future issues over slavery, resulting in a Civil War. Lines were drawn for battle between State and Union, even though in this particular case the President stood behind Georgia. Not only would Georgians defy the Supreme Court, but the President himself would not chastise them for doing so; he, too, was for Indian Removal. And more than that, holding the Union together was the most vital issue. If that meant getting rid of Georgia’s Indians, then so be it.

  Months passed; the missionaries remained imprisoned; Cherokee hopes dwindled. The missionaries were offered a pardon, more than once. But they refused, for to accept a pardon would mean they had committed a crime, and they had not.

  Georgia, in open defiance of the Supreme Court ruling, set up a land lottery. Whites could take over Cherokee land by buying chances, and soon new settlers were swarming into the border lands of Cherokee country. The full force of what was happening did not hit Adam and Andrea until the day Adam came home from his farm. He’d gone there to get some tools. His face was grim, and in his hand he held a large branch covered with golden oak leaves. Jonas ran up to him, hugging his leg, and little John Ross crawled over to his daddy, but Adam saw only Andrea. He held out the branch. “From our tree,” he said in a choked voice.

  She set aside her sewing and walked over to take the branch, while the widow Bluecrow and Rose looked on. “What is it, Adam?” Andrea asked.

  He looked at his mother then. “The farm.” He swallowed and looked back at Andrea. “White men live there now. They’re…they’re building a new house. I couldn’t even take my father’s tools. They said everything there belonged to them.”

  Andrea turned away and covered her face, clinging to the branch with one hand. Adam looked at his mother.

  “We don’t get a cent for it. Not a cent. All that land, the buildings, the tools—and not a cent. They won it…in a lottery!”

  He stood there looking dumbfounded. He still could not grasp the unfairness of what had happened, and worse, the irony. He looked at Andrea again. “Your father. It’s your father and that Means fellow and his wife. They pooled their money for the lottery, and it’s our land they took.”

  Andrea turned to him, wide-eyed, shaking her head. “It can’t be!”

  Their eyes held, and she knew that was not all. He reached out and took the hand that held the branch. “Your mother is dead, Andrea. In a few blunt words your father informed that she…she killed herself.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. As Rose hurried over to get the boys away from their father and mother, Andrea’s eyes teared and she began to tremble. “It’s my fault!”

  “No,” he said gently, drawing her to him. “It is not your fault, Andrea. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s your father’s, if you want to call him that.”

  She hugged him around the middle and wept, still holding the branch. He kissed her hair and held her tightly. “I’m so sorry, Andrea. If you’re going to blame yourself, then blame me, too, for stealing away their daughter.”

  “No, never. You did nothing wrong,” she sobbed.

  “And neither did you.”

  “Oh, Adam, it’s as though the whole world is against us! Ever since we fell in love everything around us has crumbled!”

  The boys stared at their mother, afraid of the mysterious thing that was making her cry. It was several minutes before she finally pulled away from Adam, took a handkerchief from her apron pocket, and wiped her eyes. “The worst part is that the Means are living on our farm,” she said in a shaky voice. “That means Douglas will be close whenever he’s home…and with the militia keeping quarters on Cherokee land all the time now, he’ll probably try to get as much duty here as he can, just to harass us.”

  “I’ve thought of that.” He sighed deeply as he reached out and patted her hair. “I think we should move farther up into the hills northwest of New Echota. More and more Cherokees are withdrawing from the border lands, and gathering together for safety. We expect the militia to come through town at any time and destroy the newspaper office. We aren’t supposed to be printing the Phoenix, but we have continued to do so. It’s our only way of getting the latest news to the people. But if we can’t have a paper, we’ll get word through some other way.”

  “I don’t want you riding alone anymore, Adam,” Andrea answered quickly. “You promised you wouldn’t. You’ve made enough sacrifices, and I’m afraid when you’re gone.”

  “I won’t go. Now we have to fortify ourselves against militia raids. And in our case we have to be extra careful. We know Douglas Means will single you out if he can.”

  She cringed, and he reached out and pulled her close again. “Several of the men are building log cabins right now, Andrea, in the hills north of town. Some will be quite large with several rooms so that more than one family can be together. There seems to be safety in numbers. But the cabins will have to be almost windowless—perhaps they’ll have only one small window up high on each end—so that they cannot be broken into. We’re devising escape tunnels to be used in case the militia should try to burn us out.”

  “Adam!” His mother rose, her eyes wide. “Is it truly that bad?”

  “I can see it coming, Mother. We’re still fighting this, but we’ve got to do something to protect ourselves against raids and harassment by the militia.”

  His heart tightened at the look of terror in her eyes. She reached down and picked up John, held him close. “How soon must we go?”

  “We’ll go within a week. They’re working night and day, and already have one started for us and for Ruth and James and James’s family.”

  “Oh, Adam, I can’t believe any of this is happening,” Andrea groaned, feeling suddenly weak. “When I remember coming to visit you…your beautiful home…your happy family—”

  “Don’t, Andrea. Don’t look back, not right now. It hurts too much.” He turned her slightly and took the branch from her hand. “I rode to the tree, not caring if anyone tried to stop me. But no one did. I went to our tree. It’s still there, beautiful and golden, shedding its leaves for winter. That tree will go on for a long time, Andrea, and so will we. And no matter what happens to this land, it is Cherokee land and always will be. And I make you a promise this day. One day I will be a rich man again, much richer than my father ever was. And I will come back here and buy my land out from under them. I will get my land back, Andrea, as God is my witness! And someday you and I will sit under our tree, and make love under it again. I swear it.”

  She looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. “Even if something should happen to me?”

  Their eyes held, and he took a leaf from the branch and touched it to her cheek. “Even if something should happen to you. If I do it merely in honor of your memory, I will do it. This is Cherokee land, Andrea, and that piece of land is mine. Mine! Someday Adam Chandler will own it again—outright! A
nd no one will ever take it away from me again!”

  She reached up and touched the hand that held the leaf. He squeezed her hand, and she kissed his fingers. “Remember that promise, Adam. No matter what happens, or how long it takes, or what we suffer—even if we are no longer together. Remember it, and keep it.” She looked up at him, and he bent down and kissed her lightly.

  “I will remember.”

  She turned away then, her heart heavy, not only for the loss of the land, but for more, much more…her mother…her poor, unhappy mother who had never known the kind of love she had with Adam. She slumped wearily onto a chair, and Adam laid the branch in her lap. She touched it, feeling somehow comforted by the little reminder of the happiness they had once shared beneath the oak. She would keep it, forever and ever, even after the leaves crumbled away. She wondered how much her mother had really loved her, and wished they could have been friends.

  Realizing that their refusal to accept a pardon was adding fuel to Georgians’ hatred of the Cherokee, and was disrupting the Union and bringing increased harassment to the Indians, reluctantly, the missionaries signed the hated Georgia oath, and in January of 1833 they were released. By then their stubborn insistence on refusing a pardon had only highlighted Georgia’s successful defiance of the ruling in favor of the missionaries and the Cherokee, and the pompous leaders of that state were satisfied that Georgia looked like the ultimate conqueror.

  Still, the harassment did not end. Georgians, confident and victorious, now felt they had full rights to badger the Cherokees out of their remaining land. Two nights of raiding left homes burned, women stripped and whipped and raped. Schools were closed, and white men set up shop in churches, selling liquor to those Cherokee who saw no reason to do anything in life but drink. Militia men were posted all over Cherokee country now, making sure there were no meetings and that there was no resistance. Brutality was rampant, as Georgia pumped up its efforts to make the Cherokees give up and leave. It was more and more difficult for the Cherokees to get word to the rest of the world now, and in some areas people began to forget, unaware of the horrible injustices being inflicted on the Indians in Georgia. But a handful of brave and stubborn men still managed to find ways to meet, men like John Ross and John Ridge, Elias Boudinot and Adam Chandler.