Andrea turned to look at him, and he saw the disappointment in her eyes as he drank more whiskey. He knew she didn’t like him to drink it, but she never said anything. He had failed her in her hour of need, had let her fall into the hands of Douglas Means. He had promised her that would not happen, and he would never forgive himself. Surely she blamed him. He would lose her anyway, so he might as well drink the whiskey. He thought of making love to her, but he could not. He was too full of hatred, and too full of sorrow for her catastrophe. Surely she didn’t want him to touch her now. She had not asked, and he had not offered, even though he wanted to ravage her, reclaim her, prove to himself that she belonged only to Adam Chandler.
“The stew is ready,” she said quietly.
He set the bottle aside and sat down at their homemade table in the small, one-room house of dirt. “I don’t want much,” he told her. “I’m leaving soon.”
She set a bowl in front of him, then just stood there a moment. “Adam, where do you go at night? I get scared when you’re away. I wish you would stay here.”
“I have to go. You needn’t be afraid. There is no Georgia Militia here, and Douglas Means is dead. It is the traitors who came here before us who have to be afraid now.” He took a bite of stew and she sat down across from him, studying him warily.
“You never told me what happened to Douglas.”
He looked at her almost defensively.
“It’s all right,” she assured him. “If there is one thing I’ve learned in the last few months, it’s to be strong, to never look back. It’s all right to talk about it.”
He looked back down at his stew, bit a piece of bread and poked at the meat and carrots. “He’s dead, that’s all. He died violently, the way a man like him should die. Your violation has been avenged—properly.”
She swallowed. “The way you say it, it sounds like you did it yourself.”
He swallowed and, putting down his fork and bread, met her eyes. How he loved the beautiful blue pools of sweetness that looked back at him. He still shuddered with rage at the thought of Douglas Means ravaging her, beating her, shaming her. “I did,” he said calmly.
She stiffened, paling slightly. She saw his dark eyes turn victorious, saw him straighten a little and hold up his chin like a proud warrior.
“I told him once what would happen to him if he ever touched you,” he declared. “I do not make promises without keeping them. Someone who felt sorry for me let me go that night. I came back before the sun was up and was again chained to the post. No one even knew I was gone. I assure you Douglas Means died a terrible death, choking on his own filthy manpart!”
She paled more and looked down, and he got up and walked to the bed, picking up the bottle and taking another swallow. “My woman has been avenged,” he added. “I do not regret one moment of it. If circumstances had been different, I would have taken much longer to kill him, enjoying his screams and his bulging eyes. I now know the sweetness of victory as my warrior ancestors once knew it.”
He set down the bottle and turned to her. She sat trembling, then broke into tears. She could not totally blame him for doing what he had done, but she feared what that one taste of blood was doing to him, combined with the hopelessness of this new life. She could bear anything, as long as Adam was always Adam. But he was different when he talked of blood and traitors and revenge.
Suddenly he was beside her, grasping her arms in strong, hands and lifting her. “Look at me, Andrea,” he told her.
She raised watery eyes to meet his dark ones. So handsome he was—more handsome with every passing year. His wounds had healed, but it seemed that as he regained lost weight and became stronger, he became harder. “What do you think of this uncivilized warrior who enjoys the taste of another man’s blood, my white woman? What do you think now of Adam Chandler, who likes his whiskey and cares not for his stinking, worthless farm? What do you think of your new husband?”
“Adam, don’t!” she begged. “None of this matters to me. I could live anywhere—under any circumstances—as long as I am with you. But I need the Adam I married, not the Adam I am looking at now. Don’t let this destroy you, please! I love you so much. And we all need you…your sons need you.”
“Need me? What good am I to you now? Once I could have given you the world, made you a queen. And I wanted to give you everything. Then they came and took it all. How can you stay with your Cherokee man now?” He almost sneered as he let go of her and turned away.
Andrea choked back a sob. “Adam…don’t you love me anymore?”
He turned back, tears on his cheeks. “Love you? Why do you think I risked getting hung to kill Douglas Means?”
“Oh, Adam, don’t you understand what it’s doing to you? You’re so bitter…so hard. I’m afraid for you—for us. I’m afraid you’ll go out some night and get into some kind of terrible trouble. And I’m afraid I’m losing the sweet, happy, gentle Cherokee boy I used to meet under the oak tree.”
He stared at her for a long, silent moment. “That is gone, Andrea. I realize it, but I don’t think you do yet. I failed you in every way a man can fail his woman. The only happiness I know is in a bottle, and when I take part in ancient Cherokee rituals at the meeting, I feel the old power come into my blood.”
She took a handkerchief from an apron pocket and wiped her eyes as Jonas and John darted out into the rain to let it soak them, for it was a hot day. The boys pulled off their clothes and began to wrestle in the mud, but their parents did not hear their squeals of laughter. Already the children were adjusting to this new life. It was the older people who could not forget their homeland; who had the hardest struggle here in this barren place.
“Once you found happiness in my arms, Adam,” Andrea told him. “Our love was strong, and I believe it still is. I believe it’s strong enough to bring the old Adam back to me. I need you. We made many promises, Adam, and one you made to me was that someday you would be wealthy again—that you would come out of this, use your intelligence and education to make something of yourself and secure a fine home for your family. You promised that one day you would buy back your own land, and we could go to the oak tree again and sit and talk, that no one could ever again take it away from us.”
“I did not know then what would happen, that it would be this bad, that you would be violated and shamed, that my mother would die and my sister would lose her son, that we would be living in a house of dirt!”
“I can bear it all as long as I have you. I need you!” Andrea’s voice rose slightly then, in desperation. “Don’t go away tonight, Adam, please! Stay here. Maybe we could…could truly be man and wife again.” She reddened, looking down. “I…need to know, Adam. Surely you do, too.”
He stepped closer, the whiskey making his blood hot. She wanted him! She’d said so! Yet he was sure he was losing her. He grasped her hair, forcing her to look up at him. “I avenged your rape, and I shall finish that vengeance by reclaiming you for myself,” he told her, his voice husky with desire. He met her lips, but in his need his kiss was almost violent. He pressed his hardness against her, then lifted her slightly, carrying her to the bed and falling onto it with her still in his arms. His mouth never left hers, but his kiss was bruising her lips and his hands were moving over her too urgently, too demandingly, bringing back ugly memories; for he was behaving almost as badly as her own rapist had.
This was not what she had meant. The old Adam, the gentle, sweet Adam who had touched her so perfectly, so softly—that was what she wanted. If he were the old Adam, she might be able to give herself again, to enjoy this act, for it would be with her Adam, her precious Adam, whom she loved with her whole being. But this was not that man, and his actions provoked only fear and horrible memories.
His lips left her mouth and traveled over her neck as he tore at the bodice of her dress to expose a breast.
“Adam, stop it!” she shouted frantically. “What are you doing!”
“I am doing what you want me to do,�
� he groaned, his mouth covering a nipple.
“Adam, not this way…” She began to struggle then, pushing at him. “The children…they could come in.”
“Let them.” He pulled her dress farther down. “I want you and I shall have you.”
“Adam, I didn’t mean…for it to be like this.”
He met her lips again, tore at her dress. And all Andrea could see was Douglas Means, his hideous face hovering over hers, his hands ripping her clothing, hurting her, violating her, shaming her. She screamed. “No.” Again. A loud, long no. She scratched her husband’s face. Andrea’s sudden screams and the pain occasioned by her scratching startled Adam and he stiffened. She pulled away from him then, begging him not to hurt her, screaming something about a whip. He realized with horror that she was remembering, and worse, that this woman he loved had reexperienced that horror at his own hands. Why had he done this thing? Her first time must be beautiful, slow, gentle.
She lay weeping and curled up, and the boys came running in, naked and dripping, staring at their mother. John Ross ran up to her then, started to cry.
“Mommy! Don’t cry again, Mommy!”
Adam climbed off the bed, horrified at what he had done. He threw on a cape. “I…didn’t mean…” He stared at his shivering wife. Surely he had lost her for good now. But how he wanted her! Why had he gone about it that way? Why couldn’t he like himself anymore? If only he could feel useful again, alive. But only whiskey made him feel that way. He had vowed once that he would never drink it, having seen what it had done to so many of his friends. But how he understood. “I have a meeting to go to,” he told her. Feeling helpless and unable to do anything for his wife, he then disappeared into the rain.
Andrea shooed the boys out the door to do their chores; then she stood watching the pink morning sky. Adam had not come home all night. The ache in her heart was worse than any she had yet experienced, for of all her losses, losing him would be the most unbearable. If only he had been more gentle the night before, perhaps they would have awakened together this morning, lying in each other’s arms the way they used to do. If only she could have been stronger. Perhaps she should have let him have his way, yet it would have been like lying with a stranger. She could not bear that feeling—not now.
Tears started to come, and she took a deep breath to ward them off. She had cried so much the past few months that she wondered where all the water came from. She should be dried up. She watched the rising sun. If the tears didn’t dry her up, this land would. It was hot and barren and she hated it. But she could love it if her husband would just be the man she had married. She only hated this land for what it was doing to Adam.
She turned to go inside when she saw a lone rider approaching, and her heart quickened. Perhaps it was Adam. But as the horse came closer, she saw that the rider was a woman—a white woman, who wore a bright yellow dress and a feathered hat. Even from a distance, Andrea could see that she was wearing expensive but poorly coordinated clothes. A gaudy necklace flashed in the morning sun, yet the woman rode a fine black mare.
Andrea watched and waited. The rider seemed to be coming straight to her humble house, and as she came closer, Andrea’s heart tightened. The woman looked familiar, yet she could not quite place her. When she was very near, she smiled through painted lips, her eyelids so heavy with black shadowing that Andrea wondered how she kept them open.
“Andrea! It’s been so long! I can’t believe it. You’ve hardly changed!”
Andrea just stared, horror building inside her. Mary Means! Why on earth was she here in Indian Territory! And how did she dare come to visit? What had happened to her? She looked like a prostitute.
Mary slid down from the horse, her smile cold, her eyes insincere, just like Douglas’s. She sauntered close, looking Andrea over as if her childhood friend were now a piece of dirt.
“Looks like your fancy Indian man didn’t do so well by you after all,” she mocked. She glanced at the sod house. “Kind of a comedown from that fancy brick mansion where you first slept with him, isn’t it? Or was it on the ridge that he first got under your skirts?”
Andrea stiffened, anger overcoming her horror. “What are you doing here, Mary?”
Mary Means looked back at her and tried to smile warmly. “I’m sorry, Andrea. I didn’t mean to say that. I thought maybe we could be friends again.”
Andrea struggled not to lash out and scratch the woman’s face. “Friends?” She shook with rage. “Was it a friend who told my parents I was meeting an Indian boy on the ridge? Was it a friend who caused me to be sent away to a horrible place, where they took away my baby!”
Mary’s eyes widened. “Baby! You had a baby back then?”
Andrea stepped forward this time, and Mary stepped back. “Yes. I had a son by Adam when I was barely sixteen years old. They took him away from me, and we searched but could never find him. That was twelve years ago! And I do not have one waking moment when he is not on my mind, I have not ceased to pray for my lost son! How dare you speak of friendship! And what in God’s name are you doing out here in Indian Territory? You’ve no reason to be here!”
The woman’s eyes hardened slightly. “Why, Andy, I never told on you. What makes you think I did that?”
“I’m not a fool, Mary Means! But it’s done with now. Why are you here?”
Mary folded her arms and strutted around, looking over the sod house again. “I’ve come to lead an exciting life, Andrea. Douglas told me a lot about boys and girls and such things…taught me a lot, too.”
Andrea shuddered at the mention of Douglas Means. This woman was bringing that memory back, and she wanted to scream.
“I decided it sounded like fun, so I made some trips to the other side of the ridge…learned a lot from those Cherokee boys. I swear they’re built bigger than the white ones, but then I’ve enjoyed some fine white men, too.”
Andrea felt sick. “Why are you telling me all this? I can’t believe you’re here at all. Please go, Mary.”
“Oh, but you asked me why I was here. I’m just trying to explain, Andy.”
“Don’t call me that. No one calls me that now.”
Mary laughed lightly. “You always hated that name, didn’t you?” She shrugged. “At any rate, several men later I decided I was a fool to be giving them so much pleasure for free, so I started charging. Douglas invited me to Atlanta, and helped me set up there. I worked in a very fine house, took in only the richest customers. I made a real bundle, Andy. I’m a rich woman.”
Andrea looked at her with contempt. “A rich prostitute.”
Mary just laughed. “Of course I’m a prostitute! Do you think the title bothers me? I’m proud of it. That is the reason I’m here. When I used to go over the ridge to the Cherokee boys, one of my favorites was Luke Cloud.” She paused, then strutted back to her horse.
Andrea frowned, suddenly realizing she must be careful what she said. Something was happening and it involved Luke Cloud and the meetings Adam had been attending. This woman was after something.
“Luke is a married man,” she told Mary.
Mary laughed harder then. “They’re the worst! How do you know your Adam has never rolled in the hay with a willing girl while he’s been married to you?”
Andrea reddened with anger. “It was not necessary,” she said haughtily. “I kept him busy.” Mary stiffened and Andrea grinned. “I have the best one of them all. You hate that, don’t you, Mary Means? Of the whole Cherokee tribe, I have the finest man.”
Mary grasped her horse’s bridle and glowered at Andrea. “He’s not so great. He got in a fight with my Luke one night, and Luke won.”
“Won? Adam nearly beat him to death. But your cowardly Luke Cloud pulled a knife on my husband. Adam didn’t even see the knife until it was plunged into him. It could have killed him. Luke’s a coward and a snake!”
Now Mary was red. Her eyes turned to narrow, gray slits. “Luke wrote for me to come here—paid me well to get here. He’s going to
help me pick out some young Cherokee girls to take back with me. The white businessmen of Atlanta like the Indian girls the best. I’ll make big money off of them.” She held up her chin haughtily. “Luke is a rich man—because he was smart enough to come here before the government forced the rest of you out. If your Adam was as smart as he’s supposed to be, he’d have come early. He’d be rich just like Luke. Now it will be a struggle, and the dumb ones like your Adam will be eating out of the hands of the smart ones like Luke. If it weren’t for Luke’s supply store and his willingness to give credit, the rest of you wouldn’t survive! I came out here looking for Cherokee girls—the hopeless ones who see a better life in a whorehouse. Some may not be willing, but their parents will gladly sell them for enough money to keep from starving to death!”
Andrea slapped her hard. Mary cried out and made a fist, but stopped herself from striking. Andrea looked so angry that Mary was actually afraid of her.
“Get off my land!” Andrea was shaking with rage.
“Your land?” Mary turned and mounted up. “Government land. This will never really be your land. Indians can’t own land, and neither can their slutty white wives. Don’t you look down on me, Andrea Chandler. You’ve been spreading your legs for that Indian bastard a lot longer than I’ve been at it.” She backed her horse. “Luke Cloud is a good business partner,” she added. “I don’t want anything to happen to him. And I’ll tell you something else. He’s going to help me find out what happened to my brother. Poor Douglas died a horrible death, and I know a Cherokee did it. Luke will find out! And when he does, I’ll see to it that man is hung! I came here to tell you Luke knows your husband and some others are up to something. They resent the smart ones who came here early. So you tell Adam Chandler he’d better keep his nose out of Luke Cloud’s business. And you tell him I intend to find out what happened to my brother! Once I do I’ll be leaving here—with plenty of young, fresh Cherokee girls for the fine Atlanta men whose wallets are as fat as their bellies! And you’re no better than I am, Andrea Chandler! You were laying with an Indian man at fourteen, and you had his bastard son.” She tossed her head. “Maybe you were never even legally married. Maybe those two little breeds I see feeding the chickens over there are also bastards!”
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