“Get out,” Andrea screamed. She picked up a stone, and Mary whirled her horse and galloped off. Andrea threw the stone after her, but missed. She clutched her head in her hands, shaking, all the ugliness of Douglas Means brought back through his hideous sister. How could the little girl she had once called her best friend have turned out this way? Where had everything gone wrong? And Adam! What had Mary meant about Adam keeping his nose out of Luke’s business? What was Adam up to when he was gone so many nights? He shared nothing with her anymore. He kept everything to himself and refused to talk about his absences. But she’d heard rumors of secret meetings of full-bloods and something about the old Cherokee Blood Law. Was there some way for Luke to find out about Douglas Means? Who had let Adam loose that night to go and commit such a hideous murder? Adam! Adam had killed, and somehow she knew he would kill again.
She picked up a hoe and walked blindly to a potato field. She had to keep busy. She didn’t dare stop now or she would lose her mind. Where was Adam? Why didn’t he come home?
Hours passed, and she kept the children busy with chores, then gave them their spelling lessons. The government had promised schools and teachers for the children once they arrived, but so far such promises had not been kept. None of the promises had been kept. Rations and supplies came too late, and meat was worthless. The Cherokee suppliers, men like Luke Cloud, charged ridiculous prices to their own poor kindred, then dared to gloat about their wealth.
It was early afternoon before Adam finally showed up. He looked tired, his eyes were bloodshot, his shirt open. She stood at the doorway waiting. Their eyes held, and she saw the sorrow in his.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a husky voice. “I never meant for it…to be like that.”
For a brief moment she saw a flash of the old Adam. “It’s all right.”
“No it isn’t!” He looked away. “I just…I love you so damned much, Andrea. I feel us slipping apart, and it scares me.”
“It doesn’t have to happen. Just don’t change, Adam. And…try to stay away from the whiskey.”
He shook his head. “I need it.”
“No you don’t. You don’t need it, Adam! All you need is your own pride, your own education and your God-given intelligence.”
“I have no pride left,” he said quietly, turning back to face her. “My education couldn’t help me keep my land. My intelligence was worth nothing. The only way I can even think of being proud again is to feel like a man. I was a man when I killed Douglas Means, and I’ll be even more of a man when I—” He stopped then, and her heart raced. What was he up to?
He dismounted then, and came closer to her. “When I have rid myself of the hatred, Andrea, only then can I be a man for you in the night. The hatred makes me…” He breathed deeply and reached out, pulling her close. “I’m sorry, Andrea. I did a terrible thing last night. I get so angry…and then I need the whiskey and it all just comes out in stupid ways.”
She hugged him tightly, glad to have him home safe. “Just don’t stop loving me, Adam.”
“Never. I could never stop loving you. I didn’t come home because I was ashamed. I drank all night, and then I was in such bad shape this morning I couldn’t come right away. I stayed with James and Ruth.”
She broke into tears of relief, for she’d been sure he’d gone to another secret meeting, perhaps had gone out to kill someone. “Oh, Adam, promise me you’ll stay here tonight.”
“I will.” His whole body trembled. “Andrea, I am so sorry for all of it—for the dirt house, no money, and—”
“Adam, don’t. It doesn’t matter to me, as long as you love me. I get so scared when you’re gone. I’ve heard rumors…about secret meetings, about full-bloods plotting against the traitors.” She looked up at him. “Adam, a terrible thing happened this morning. You must be careful!”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Mary Means was here!”
His eyes widened. “Mary Means!”
“She’s a prostitute—in Atlanta. She does business with Luke Cloud, and she said Luke is going to supply her with young Cherokee girls to take back to Atlanta. She was awful, Adam. She came here just to sneer at me and show me what she is now. She’s ugly and painted and horrible. I wanted to kill her.”
He grasped her arms firmly, suddenly changing again. “Mary Means is here to buy Cherokee girls through Luke Cloud?”
Instantly she regretted telling him. “Adam, what are you thinking?”
He turned and mounted his horse. “Adam, wait! You promised!”
“I will be back.”
“Adam, she said she’s also trying to find out who killed Douglas. She said Luke was going to help her find out! Adam, she’s dangerous! Stay out of it!”
“She will not take innocent Cherokee girls and turn them into whores!” he roared. “I have to talk to someone. I will be back in a while, I promise!”
“Adam, don’t leave!”
He rode off then toward Tahlequah. Just the mention of Mary Means and Luke Cloud brought fury to his soul. Months of hatred were coming to a head. It was time to do something.
Chapter Twenty-five
Andrea awoke with a start. She had thought she would be unable to sleep, yet the constant worry of the past few weeks had exhausted her, and when she had lain on the bed as she waited for Adam, she had drifted off. But it had not been a restful sleep. Her nerves were frayed, and she was pained by the memory of how Adam had left.
She stared into darkness, sensing something wrong but not sure what. There was a strange cracking sound somewhere far in the distance, then an explosion.
“Adam!” she whispered. She jumped up and reached for the flint. It had not been completely dark when she had lain down, but now she felt it was very late.
She lit the lamp and turned it up, then checked on the boys, who slept peacefully in their own small bed, half-sprawled over each other. She smiled, wondering if she would ever have been able to bear everything without the knowledge that she must keep going for the sake of her sons. Briefly she allowed herself to think about her first son—Nathan, they still called him. She hoped that perhaps he was better off wherever he was than living here in this desolate land. Yet she could not help but suspect that he was not.
She picked up the rifle Adam always left for her. Whatever her husband was up to, it was not good. She opened the door and stepped outside, then gasped at the glowing sky. Orange flames could be seen easily from the town, only two miles distant over treeless land. Was all of Tahlequah burning, or just part of it? Considering the location of the flames, she was certain one building that was burning was Luke Cloud’s trading post.
“My God, Adam,” she groaned. “Where are you! What have you done!” It had to stop somewhere, or Adam Chandler would end up in prison or hanged. He might be shot by his enemies, or they might do harm to his family. Being taken from his natural habitat and put on the defensive had brought back Adam’s warrior instincts. But these were not the old days, and his need for revenge could not go on forever. After all the amazing progress the Cherokees had made in the past thirty years, they now seemed to be going backward, back to old beliefs and rituals, back to physical conflict over territory and for revenge, only this time they did not fight other Indian tribes or the white man. This time they fought each other, and there could be no sadder ending to such a proud and intelligent people.
She waited for what seemed hours, huddled near the door, watching the orange sky. She feared for her own life, and wondered what had happened and whether someone was after Adam. Finally the flames died down, and the sky was not so well lit. She went back inside then and bolted the door, almost laughing to herself at how easily someone could break into her little sod house. The door and its frame were the only really solid items in the makeshift home. She wondered if, and when, she would ever have a real house again, whether she and Adam would ever live like normal people. She sat down at the table and picked up her Bible, keeping her gun beside her—waiting. A m
antel clock they had salvaged from their belongings ticked nearby on a small table. The ticks seemed to grow louder with each passing minute, and she tried to ignore them.
Finally she heard an approaching horse. She set the Bible aside and picked up the rifle. The horse stopped, and in the next moment someone knocked on the door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me—Adam. Hurry up. I am hurt.”
She set the rifle aside and hurried to the door, letting him in. Her eyes widened at the sight of him. He was black from smoke and his left arm was bleeding. “Adam! Dear God, what happened!”
He sat down on a chair. “Some people died tonight,” he said quietly. “That is all I can tell you. It is over now. The traitors will bother us no more. At least there has been some retribution for having to live in this miserable place!”
“Adam, what have you done?” She quickly began to heat some water.
“I don’t want to talk about it. The less you know, the better. It is bad enough that you know I killed Douglas Means. I only told you because I needed you to know that I avenged your violation.”
She swallowed back tears. Going over to him, she unbuttoned his shirt, helped him slip it off. “What happened to your arm?”
He sighed deeply. “Someone shot at me.”
She looked at him with terrified eyes and he actually grinned, something she had not seen him do for a long time. “Don’t worry. It won’t happen again.”
Jonas woke up and rubbed his eyes. “Father?” He sat up. “Father, you’re hurt!”
“Lie back down, son. I will be all right.” He grimaced as Andrea dabbed at the flesh wound with a wet cloth. “Get me some whiskey.”
She hesitated. “It isn’t that bad.”
“I don’t mean for pain. I just need it. After what I have been through tonight I need a drink.”
Her lips set tight in anger. She got out a bottle and set it on the table, harder than necessary. “Don’t you realize that you’re falling into the pit many of your friends have fallen into by drinking this stuff? It will destroy you, Adam. It might destroy both of us!”
He just gave her a playful wink. “You worry too much. It is time now to stop worrying.” He uncorked the bottle with his teeth, spit out the cork, and then took a swallow. She said nothing more. The water warmed and she washed the wound and, taking the whiskey from his hand, doused it on the open flesh. He jerked but made no sound, then watched her as she began to bandage his arm.
“I think you enjoyed that, Mrs. Chandler.”
She met his dark eyes. Why was it so difficult to stay angry with him? There were moments when he seemed like the playful, teasing Adam she had met under the oak tree. “Maybe I did,” she answered. “You deserved it. You’d better wash all that black off the rest of you. You’ll not come to bed the way you are now.”
He reached up and touched her face. “I promised I would be here tonight, and here I am.”
She tried to remain angry. “Barely. Another hour and it will be dawn.” She tied off the bandage. “There. That’s the best I can do. Thank God it wasn’t more serious. There isn’t a doctor for miles, and none that would treat a Cherokee at that.”
“We’ll get a doctor here, one way or another. The missionaries will send one. Someday we will be well settled and everything will be like it was at New Echota.” His voice choked on the last word and he swallowed more whiskey. “Yes, sir, you’ll see. It will be wonderful again. I will build you a fine house here, make a little money on my farming, and—”
“You promised to build me a house on our land in Georgia. You said that you would build yourself up again and buy back your land legally. What happened to that promise, Adam? You’re capable of making it happen. At least the Adam I once knew was capable of it. Now you speak of being a little farmer in the middle of nowhere. You’re giving up, Adam. You could do great things.”
He broke into a bitter laugh. “Oh, yes. There is so much opportunity out there for young Cherokee men. All doors are open. We are welcome wherever we go.” He got up and undressed. “It was all a dream I once thought could come true. I don’t believe it anymore.” He threw down his clothes, leaving on only his underwear, then slugged down more whiskey. “I am tired, Andrea. I need to forget what happened tonight.” He sat down on the bed and sighed wearily. “Sometimes I think about taking my life. Maybe it would be better for you and the boys if I were dead. You could go north, probably find yourself a nice farmer or even a wealthy businessman to marry. You are still young, and more beautiful than ever.”
She soaped up a washcloth and washed his face and neck. “There would be no purpose to my own life without you. Don’t talk foolishly, Adam.” She toweled off his face. “I love you. I need my man, and the boys need their father. How can you think I could ever love another man after loving you?”
He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “You’re too good for the likes of me, Andrea Chandler.”
She put down the towel and took his hand. “No, I’m not. That’s the way I’ve felt about you all these years. I worship you, Adam. I’m proud of your intelligence and education, proud of your strength and pride, your courage. Just be my Adam. And leave the whiskey alone, Adam. Everything could change if you would stop drinking.”
He pulled his hand out of hers. “I love you, Andrea, but don’t tell your man what he can and cannot do.”
She paled and her chest ached. He had never before made such a statement to her. A lump swelled in her throat and she turned away, blinking back tears as she opened the door and carried the water outside to dump it. By the time she had finished cleaning up, he was sprawled on the bed in a deep, exhausted sleep.
She walked closer to the bed, staring down at his hard, muscular body. Yes. She could lie beneath him again, if he would touch her and make love to her the way he used to do. But her worst fear was being realized. Adam Chandler would not be brought down by his human enemies. He would be brought down by his own feeling of inadequacy, his own guilt, his own despair, all of which led him to the brown bottle. How many other strong young men had she seen destroyed by the firewater?
She broke into tears as she sat down beside him and gently pulled the bottle from his hand. Setting the whiskey aside, she leaned down to kiss his cheek, to touch his thick, dark hair. He was nearly thirty now, and she would soon be twenty-eight. In all their years together, there had been so few moments of true peace and happiness. How she wished they could go back, even just for a little while, to the oak tree, to the special love they had found there.
She undressed and crawled into bed beside him, resting her head against his shoulder. “Sleep well, my warrior,” she said softly. “God save you from yourself.”
Adam fell deeper and deeper into the brown bottle, and Andrea did not know how to stop him. She, Jonas and John did much of the harvesting, meager as the crops were, for Adam was usually too drunk to help. He even sold some of their badly needed food in order to buy more whiskey. Andrea watched helplessly. He spoke no more of what had happened the night of the fire, but she knew from stories that had circulated what must have happened. Luke Cloud was dead, and the fancy woman who had been found with him had been run out of town, her life threatened. Others had been killed that night, all Cherokees who had come west before the great forced migration, most of them wealthy by the time the rest of the Cherokees arrived. The worst news was that John Ridge and Elias Boudinot had both been murdered for signing the treaty and speaking for Removal. There were still a few threats and some unrest, but Adam seldom went out at night anymore. Andrea could only wonder how many murders he had committed himself.
She did not doubt that he had had a hand in killing Luke Cloud, who’d been beaten and left to die in the flames of his own trading post. Yet knowing what the man had been up to, she could not feel sorry for him, nor could she fully blame Adam. But all the killing and hatred had led him to the whiskey, and now he seemed to be on a road from which there was no turning back.
Summer an
d autumn passed, then came winter, a long, cold winter that sometimes left them buried in their little sod house. Andrea tried to think up games for the children, ways to keep busy, while Adam sat and drank. Sometimes he read, but not nearly as much as he once did. And never did he mention making love, nor did he try to do it. There were moments when she sensed he was considering it, but he would always back away, as though he were unworthy of touching her. And her own ordeal with Douglas Means had left her too ashamed to make any brazen advances toward her husband. Their days of playful, teasing sex were over, and the beautiful physical love they had once shared seemed ended. She wondered how much longer it would be before the marriage itself ended, for she lived with a stranger now, and her agony knew no bounds.
In the spring Adam spent more time in town than at home, and was of little help in planting a new crop. James did much of the plowing, a difficult task, for he had his own farm to tend to. Andrea now knew that for survival she would have to leave her husband and take refuge with a Northern mission. The thought of leaving Adam tore at her. How could she truly do it? Yet how could they keep going this way? Perhaps if she left him he would stop drinking in order to get her back. Her decision finally came after a two-night absence, nights she knew he had spent in Tahlequah, perhaps even sleeping with some of the young Cherokee girls who were now prostitutes, having lost all their pride after being repeatedly raped by Georgia Militia. Adam had killed to prevent young Cherokee girls from being drawn into prostitution, but that was now happening right on their own reservation; for hopelessness ran rampant throughout Indian Territory, not just among the Cherokees, but also the Creeks, Choctaws, and Seminoles. To Andrea it seemed the whole world was coming to an end. Those Cherokees who had survived the Trail of Tears were now destroying themselves.
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