Heart's Surrender

by Rosanne Bittner

  “I did not think of that. Cut it off of me and burn it! Do not let anyone see you.”

  The lieutenant quickly ripped off the gauze and Adam grunted with pain.

  “What about my tracks?”

  “I thought of that. I’m having a herd of Cherokee cattle brought in closer to camp in the morning, to scatter a few thousand cattle tracks over your own. No one will be able to track you any farther than the edge of camp, if you are tracked at all, for you will be found cuffed to this pole.”

  Adam quickly dressed and sat down. He let Renfro cuff and chain him. “I was getting a little worried. You were gone a long time,” Renfro said.

  “I had to wait until he blew out the lamp and went to sleep.”

  Renfro stood up and threw a blanket over him. “Just play along with me in the morning. I may have to be rough on you.”

  “It does not matter now. Do whatever you want. It is worth it to have this peace inside of me.”

  “I happen to be very glad myself that you got your revenge. By the way, the doctor fixed up your wife as best he could—the cuts and all. She’s been asking for you. I assured her you were all right, but that I could not let you go. I wouldn’t tell her what you’ve done, nor your mother or anyone. Maybe later, when you get out West you can tell them. But your wife is in a bad state, and she might blurt something out unintentionally if you tell her.”

  “I understand.”

  “We’ve done all we can for the sick and injured ones. We move out in a few days, I’m afraid, and there will be no doctor. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t tell me the militia will take over.”

  “No. Some new troops are coming in. Seems the government has decided to change the guard often so none of us gets too friendly with any of you. How’s that for a laugh? At any rate, we’re supposed to stop doctoring you. If you’re lucky the missionaries will send a doctor. In the meantime there will be no one.”

  “You don’t have to explain. I know it is not your doing.”

  The lieutenant sighed deeply. “I’ll come by for you in the morning. I’m sending another man out to watch you come daylight. Good-bye, Chandler.”

  “Good-bye, Renfro. God go with you.”

  “And with you.”

  The lieutenant left, and Adam sank wearily against the post, intense fatigue suddenly overwhelming him. Everything hurt now that he was allowed to feel the pain, to give in to it. He thought about Andrea. Tears came, and he rested his head against an upraised arm and wept. It was over. He would not go home again.

  Adam awoke to shouts and the thunder of hooves. He opened bloodshot eyes to see a man standing near him, but looking toward the distant ridge. Adam scrambled to his knees, his heart tightening. Were the militia coming? Would they find him out? For a moment he could not see well, for a herd of cattle had just rumbled through. Choking dust rolled over him and he put his head down. “Please, give me some…water,” he groaned to his guard.

  The young man glanced at him, then back through the dust. He reached down and picked up a canteen, bringing it to Adam. “Put your head back and open your mouth. I don’t like Indians drinking out of my canteen.”

  Adam did as he was told, gasping with relief at the refreshing wetness. Now more pain was setting in. His joints were stiff, his side ached fiercely. His face was black and green, and dull aches persisted in his groin and lower back. His wrists were swollen and bloody. But none of that mattered now. He remembered his deed of the night before, and it was a wonderful memory. Still, he could not help but worry about the men who now approached from the distance. The dust began to clear, and his guard capped the canteen.

  “Looks like militia coming,” he commented.

  Adam watched, and much as it hurt, he began to tug at his chains again, as though fiercely angry that he was still restrained. It was important to put on a good act. The men came closer, and to his relief Lieutenant Renfro was with them.

  “There! I told you!” he was shouting. “The devil has been chained to that post all night! Unless his spirit can exit his body and go out and kill his enemies, there is no way this man could have done it!”

  Adam stared at them with wild eyes as they rode closer. “What! Done what!” he shouted. “What do these sons-of-bitches think I did!”

  “Someone murdered our major last night—Major Means! It was a bloody, heathen, brutal murder. By God no white man would kill another white man that way!”

  Adam just grinned through clenched teeth. “Means? He is dead?” He threw back his head and laughed. “Good! It serves the bastard right! Find the man who did it, and I will shake his hand!”

  One of the militia men kicked out, his boot landing in Adam’s face and sending him flying against the post. “You heathen bastard! Who else would have reason to do it?”

  “This man has been here all night!” Adam’s guard spoke up. “I took over guarding him before the sun even rose this morning, and he was right here.”

  “Look at his wrists!” Renfro put in. “There is barely any skin left on them. Last night he got wild as a she-cat. That’s why I chained the other wrist also. Does that look like a man who could sneak off and kill a militia man in the middle of the night? What did he do, drag the pole with him? The man has been chained to that pole since he was brought here yesterday.”

  One of the militia men dismounted, as did Renfro. The Georgia man walked up to Adam, jerked him up by the hair of the head. He studied him closely, pushing him back and looking over his body and pants, staring at the blackened skin on his chest.

  “Your own men beat the hell out of this man yesterday,” Renfro put in. “For God’s sake, look at him! He’s hardly in shape to go running off to kill someone.”

  The militia man stepped back. “These Indians have a strength that doesn’t quit sometimes.” He rubbed a bristly beard. “Still in all, between those wounds and those chains—”

  Adam spit at him. “Georgia pig!” he muttered. “Except you do not have the brains of a pig!”

  Renfro slammed a fist into his face. Adam’s body jerked, for his arms were still pinned over his head and he could not go down. “You keep your mouth shut,” Renfro ordered.

  “Never!” Adam growled. “Go find your murderer, militia man! Maybe there is a sympathizer among your own men…someone who is angry that Douglas Means raped a white woman…committed a crime against your own kind!”

  The militia man frowned, seeming to consider the statement. He looked back at his men. “No way!” one of them declared. “What was done to the major was Indian things. No white man cuts off another white man’s privates.”

  The lieutenant struggled to keep from showing his shock. He had not expected such brutality, yet how could he blame Adam?

  “Maybe somebody just wanted us to think it was an Indian.”

  “You may never know, Sergeant,” Renfro put in. “But there is no sense in looking here. Everyone here has been confined under right security, and this man has been in cuffs constantly. This camp is in complete order, Sergeant. I suggest you get back to yours and make sure it is the same. I am sorry about your major, but I’ll not have you making the federals look bad just for your own gain.”

  “We followed tracks over the ridge!”

  “Fine. Maybe whoever it was wanted you to find those tracks. If you think it was one of the people here, go and find him. There are three thousand people in this holding camp, Sergeant, well-guarded, starving, sick, tired, hopeless people. If you think you can pick out the killer from among them, be my guest.”

  The sergeant glowered at him. “You Federals think you’re so high and mighty. You’d, by God, better keep a good watch on those lice, Lieutenant.” His eyes shifted to Adam. “Especially that one.”

  “I’ll tend to my job and you tend to yours. But I suggest you do it with a little less brutality, Sergeant. You’ve blackened Georgia’s name enough these past few years. These people have to go now. Let them go in dignity.”

  “There is no such thing as
dignity for a Cherokee,” the militia man sneered. He eyed Adam carefully once more, then turned to remount his horse. “You’re a damned lucky man, Chandler. We had some right entertaining things in mind for the major’s murderer.”

  “I hope the bastard is never caught,” Adam sneered. “Maybe he’s a ghost killer. Maybe he’ll come and kill all of you. Maybe you’ll be next, Sergeant!”

  Renfro’s booted foot struck Adam’s ankle, making him cry out. “I told you to keep quiet, Chandler! The sooner you quiet down, the sooner you can be with your family.”

  The sergeant backed his horse, looking suddenly uncomfortable. He didn’t like Adam Chandler’s talk of a ghost killer. He and his men would not sleep well this next night. If the murderer was not Adam Chandler, then who was it? Was he waiting in the hills to strike again?

  “We’re moving our camp away from here,” he told Renfro. “We’ll report this, but I don’t know what else to do. I’ll send men to tell the major’s parents about his death. Then we’ll head up into the hills and root out some of those that took to the caves. We’ll be gone by this afternoon. I’ll not make camp in that same spot another night.”

  “As you wish, Sergeant.” Renfro remounted, and ordered the young guard to stay put until he returned. As the militia men left, Adam shouted that they were cowards, afraid of ghosts. He turned then and sat back against the post, laughing, feeling like a crazy man, wondering if perhaps he truly had lost some of his faculties.

  It was close to an hour before Renfro came back and announced to the guard that he was taking Adam inside the compound to be with his family.

  “But, sir…he’s so wild,” the guard protested.

  “We have plenty of men. This man has suffered enough. Now that the man who raped his wife is dead, we have no reason to believe he will try to escape to go after him. His wife needs him badly. Perhaps being with his family will help calm him down.”

  Adam grinned. “Finally! Hurry and get me out of these damned cuffs before my hands fall off, damn you!”

  “You behave yourself, or I’ll cuff both hands and ankles next time, understand? I want your promise, Chandler.”

  Adam sneered at him. “I will not cause trouble, soldier. Just let me be with my wife.”

  Renfro bent close and unlocked the chains and cuffs, and when Adam’s arms dropped, he writhed in pain. The guard watched warily. “You can go back to camp, Miller,” Renfro told the guard. “I’ll handle this.”

  “But, sir—”

  “I didn’t get to be a lieutenant by not being able to handle one man, Miller. Now get going!”

  “Yes, sir.” The young man saluted and left. Renfro took his rifle from his horse and then helped Adam to his feet.

  “Can you walk all right?”

  “I think so,” Adam muttered. “Please…take me to her.”

  “Walk ahead of me. You’re under my guard, remember?”

  Adam stumbled toward the camp.

  “You cut off his privates?” Renfro asked quietly.

  “I stuffed them in his mouth!” Adam hissed.

  “My God, man, I didn’t expect that.”

  “She was my wife. She has been mine and only mine since she was fourteen years old. No man touches my wife!”

  “That is obvious.” Renfro grinned a little. “I’ve read about you, Chandler. I’ve followed this Cherokee thing closer than you know. That’s partly why I volunteered for this unpleasant duty. Now that morning is here, I am wondering where my mind was yesterday, letting you go like that. I think it’s time I got out of Georgia.”

  Adam stopped and turned around. “I don’t know how to thank you. I have known you one day, yet I consider you a friend.”

  “Turn around and be a little more belligerent,” Renfro warned. Adam turned back around and Renfro pushed at him with the butt of his rifle. “We can’t start acting like friends. I’m sorry.”

  “I know.”

  “Is it true you’re a Harvard graduate?”

  “It is true. My family was once very wealthy. We had much land, a fine home and many slaves. All was stolen from us. I have almost nothing left.”

  They neared pine posts that formed the gate to the prison camp. “Hold up,” Renfro told him. Adam halted and the soldier walked around to face him, speaking quietly. “My father is a lawyer, up in Independence, Missouri. I’m going to tell him about you. I don’t know what you’re in for, or what you’ll do when you get out West, but it won’t be easy. If you need help, need a job, get in touch with him—Michael Renfro.”

  “He would give employment to an Indian?”

  “Sure he would. We aren’t all Indian haters, you know. Your own experience with Northerners a few years ago should tell you that.”

  Adam’s eyes teared, and he swallowed. “I will think about it. The first thing I must do is stay with my people and help them. But I made myself a promise, that one day I will be wealthy again and buy back my land, legally.”

  Renfro nodded. “I understand, and I wish you luck. Now I suggest you brace yourself for a blow from behind when you go through the gate. I have to give you a proper chastising to make sure you behave yourself.”

  Adam wanted to smile, but knew he dared not. Renfro walked behind him and shoved him again. Guards opened the gate at the lieutenant’s command, and as soon as Adam was through it Renfro slammed the rifle butt into his back, making him fall forward.

  “Just a warning, Chandler,” he said loudly. “Behave yourself inside and you can stay with your family. Cause trouble or incite others to make trouble, and you’ll go right back out to that post!” He looked at the guards. “One of you take him to his wife and family—over in the southeast corner. And watch him. I think he’s calmed down enough to stay with the others, but if he starts anything, put him back in chains.”

  He turned and left, and two men helped Adam to stand up, half dragging him through a maze of sad Cherokees, most of them silent, some singing hymns. Before they went far two young boys ran toward them.

  “Father! Father!”

  They reached Adam simultaneously and he went to his knees, hugging them both and weeping. “Thank God,” he murmured.

  “Mommy’s hurt, Father. You gotta come. She cries for you all the time.”

  Adam wondered how much more he could suffer without giving up. Andrea! It was his fault she had suffered so much. How could he ever forgive himself?

  “Take me to your mother,” he said to his sons in a weak voice. He managed to get to his feet. “My sons can take me,” he told the guards. “Don’t worry, I won’t make trouble. I just want to see my wife.”

  The guards exchanged doubtful looks, then one of them shrugged. “He’s in too bad shape to make much trouble for now. Let him go to the woman.” The second man lowered his gun.

  “You mind what you do, Chandler,” he warned. Then the two men walked off.

  Adam leaned on his sons, who were really too small to support their big father. But he knew they wanted to think they were helping him, knew the terror they must have felt since seeing him beaten and their mother dragged off. He grasped their shoulders and held on as they walked.

  “Everything will be all right now, boys. We’re together. I won’t leave you again, and neither will your mother. Whatever happens, we’ll be together.”

  They headed through the sea of mournful faces, toward a place where a makeshift sun shield had been created from sticks and a piece of a cloth. It shaded a white woman, who lay on her stomach, a light blanket over her. “Andrea!” Adam groaned.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “Adam!” Her voice was small and weak, but she raised her arm and he caught hold of her hand, bent down, and kissed her cheek.

  “My God, Andrea, forgive me,” he groaned, breaking into tears. “I tried…to stop them.”

  Her own tears came then, and her body shook. “I thought…they’d killed you…thought they were lying…when they said you were alive.”

  “Nobody can kill me when I know you need
me.” He raised up slightly, tears streaming down his bruised face, and he touched her hair, noticing her face was bruised. “My God, what did that bastard do to you?”

  Her sobs wrenched his heart, yet she clung to his hand with amazing strength. “I thought I could bear it…be strong…God, Adam, I’m not yours anymore—”

  “Stop that!” He bent close again and smoothed back her hair. He kissed her cheek, her tears. “You are mine and only mine.” He wiped at his eyes. “You always were and you always will be. Nothing can change that—nothing! You said that yourself, remember? You did nothing wrong. It was Douglas Means who did something wrong. He is led by the devil, and now he is dead!”

  She blinked and quieted somewhat. Adam kept kissing her, talking low in her ear. “Yes, he is dead. I do not know who did it, but someone killed him, and he can never hurt you again, do you hear me? He can never hurt you or Ruth or anyone else again. The man who wronged you is dead, and now we must go on, for Jonas and John. We can’t let this destroy us, Andrea. So much lies ahead. We need each other.”

  For several minutes they wept, unable to control their emotions. Then Rose came to kneel beside her son. “Adam, you should lie down. You are badly wounded. We were so afraid those men would beat you to death.”

  He remained bent over Andrea, crying like a child, and Jonas and John stood on the other side of their mother, both of them sniffling.

  “Please, Adam.”

  “No,” he groaned. “I am all right.”

  “Adam, you…have to rest,” Andrea sobbed. “How badly…are you hurt?”

  “I can take it. It is you I am concerned about.”

  She had thought perhaps he would treat her differently, love her less. But he was with her, dear, sweet, gentle Adam, her Cherokee man. He was badly hurt, but he cared only about her. She tried to sit up, but was too sore. Her confused mind whirled with ugly memories and the horror of Douglas Means. She could have stood the beating. But the other…Her whole body shuddered again. Was it true? Was the man really dead and unable to hurt her again? What had happened?