“Only because you let her. I’m beginning to think you miss her.”
“Miss her? I don’t even like dogs,” Uriah said, cresting the mountain and then breaking out of the trees into a clearing, where John was already off his horse. Below lay a valley with a sparkling river, bright green grass, flowers in profuse bloom, and settlers going about their daily lives.
The last to arrive, Gideon winced as he slowly lifted a leg over Miss Daisy’s saddle and got down. “What settlement is this?”
“Kingsport, I believe. I recall the blockhouse,” John answered, watching his father dismount and quickly put his hands in the small of his arched back. “The settlers hope to become a new state, if North Carolina allows secession,” he went on. “The state of Franklin.”
Gideon found a rock to sit on, carefully lowered himself to it, and began unwrapping the bandage around his head. “How far to the Cherokee village?”
“Another fifty miles or so down the valley,” answered John. “Shall I get a new bandage?”
“It feels better with it off.”
Uriah stretched from side to side and then bent forward to touch his toes. “Now that you recover, perhaps you might tell us what happened.”
“Papa, we agreed not to ask.”
“Did we? When?”
“I got caught,” Gideon said.
“Caught doing what?” Uriah asked.
“The usual...assailing white women and killing their husbands,” Gideon answered, a hint of a smile on his lips.
“You were not gone long enough,” said Uriah.
“If you must know, I happened upon three men who hoped to line their pockets with Whitley’s bounty.”
“I was afraid of that,” John said, putting a foot up on a log. “And what became of them?”
“They were alive when last I saw them.”
“Why didn’t they give chase?” Uriah asked.
Gideon’s grin grew wider. “I took their horses.”
“I see,” Uriah said, putting his hands on his hips and continuing to stretch from side to side.
“Why did you not kill Whitley when you had the chance? I would have,” John wondered. “Wasn’t he the same man who abandoned you and two hundred others at sea?”
“What’s this?” Uriah asked, abruptly halting his exercises.
Gideon’s grin faded. “I wanted to...I even planned to kill him. But something he neglected to ask caused me pause. You see, before landing in America, we put to shore in the West Indies where we took on more slaves. In a week’s time, the plague began.” Gideon dropped his eyes in sorrow.
“Never have I seen a more wretched death. Their eyes glowed red and they stared unblinking for days before they died.”
“Typhus,” John said, “we saw it in the war.”
“Aye, Typhus. Each morning,” Gideon continued, “Whitley unbolted the hatch so we could carry up the dead, and when we finished, he bolted it again. Then one morning he did not come. We could hear no footsteps on deck, no captain shouting orders and no sails flapping in the wind – we were a ship of death and the whites had deserted us.”
“Good heavens, what did you do?” Uriah asked.
“Therein lies the mystery. When we had the wits to try, we shoved on the hatch and it came free.”
“Do you mean someone intentionally left it unbolted?” Uriah asked.
Gideon winced in pain as he changed positions on the rock. “I have no other explanation.”
“But surely not Whitley,” John said. “The man was vile and committed unspeakable acts.”
“That he was, but when I later confronted him, he was not surprised to see me. More importantly, he did not ask how I escaped.”
“Because he already knew,” Uriah muttered. He shrugged and resumed his exercises. “Tell me, why doesn’t Africa close its ports to slavers? Don’t they know what’s happening?”
“They know,” Gideon answered, “but slavery is as profitable for Africans as it is for whites.”
“They sell their own people?” John asked.
“They don’t see it like that. The people they sell have been tribal enemies for generations. Only here do they find, by virtue of their slavery, that they are from the same tribe after all.”
“Will they someday rise up against us?” John asked.
“Wouldn’t you? Did you not? Your grievances before the war were a great deal less than ours.”
John sighed, “I see your point.”
“That settles it then,” Uriah said.
“Settles what, Papa?”
“If revolt is inevitable, we’d best make friends with as many Africans as possible. Besides, why let Caleb have all the intrigue?”
“Build our own maroon, you mean?”
“And why not? We’ve little else to do,” Uriah answered.
John reached down to give Gideon a hand up. “In that case, we’d best get on with it.”
“Already?” Uriah asked. “I’ve not yet...”
“Papa, this is the land of the Muskhogeans and we are not safe here,” John said, holding Miss Daisy while Gideon painfully remounted. “The Muskhogeans have declared war on Georgia.”
“Indeed, and how have you learned of this?”
John turned to carefully watch his father’s face. “I got a post from Laughing Rain.”
“When?”
“Three days before Gideon’s misfortune.”
“Three days?” Uriah gasped. “Why are you just now telling me?”
“Because you are an impulsive man who would have donned coat and hat, mounted his horse and ridden into the dead of winter.”
Uriah’s eyes suddenly brightened. “Polly is alive?”
“Aye,” John answered, unable to hide his grin any longer. Before John could mount, Uriah was on his horse. He quickly wrapped the mule reins around his free hand and started off down the mountainside.
“Can we stop him come night?” Gideon asked.
“Only if we remind him he’s in need of a good washing.”
Gideon chuckled, “I’m in need of one myself. Who is Polly?”
“The woman my father hopes I will marry.”
Gideon briefly halted his horse. “I see, and will you marry her?”
“If she will have me.”
After a long moment, Gideon finally moved on. “Good. Hester would want you to remarry.”
AT THE WIDE END OF the long valley, where the smaller Tennessee River flows into the larger one, the Cherokee village was a mixture of white and Indian traditions. Log cabins had wood shutters instead of glass windows, and attached to the cabins were buckskin lean-tos. The houses faced the center of the village with fields behind them. Beyond the fields, the forests sloped up the wondrous and beautiful mountains. Yards were dotted with drying racks, lightweight bark canoes, large baskets, pottery wheels, and well-used weaving looms. The villagers were each dressed after their own choosing—white or Indian. Together they tended livestock, the spring planting, laundry, children, sewing, and the hauling of water, just as they had for generations.
At the sight of two white men and an enormous black man coming across the smaller river, more than three hundred Cherokee paused to watch. In a field stood a fifteen-year-old boy, and as soon as they came close enough, he was the first to recognize them. “Carsons!” he shouted. His shirt was off in the warmth of the evening, he wore soft leather pants and moccasins, and his smile was wide as he raced down the road to greet them.
John guided his horse up the riverbank, reached out a hand, caught the boy’s arm, and hoisted him onto the back of his horse. “You’ve grown stronger, No Name.”
“I have a name now, it is Brave Hunter,” Laughing Rain’s son beamed. He quickly hugged John’s back. Then, ever so carefully, he got to his feet on the rump of the horse. “Carsons!” he shouted again.
“Why have they named you Brave Hunter?” John asked, guiding his horse toward the village where the Cherokee were beginning to gather.
“Four red foxes and a black
bear,” the boy smugly answered. Cautiously, he turned, balancing himself on the back of the horse until he faced backwards. “Did you bring it? You promised a pole ax,” he said to Uriah.
Uriah grinned and tipped his hat. “I remember. A pole ax it is.”
“And to think, it only took five years.” Brave Hunter smirked, folding his arms. “Who’s he?”
“A friend,” John answered. He led the way past three more cabins and several people before he turned his horse up the road toward the eastern edge of the mountains. “He’s harmless.”
“He’s so big,” a white woman muttered, speaking to the Cherokee man standing next to her. “Bigger than any two of us.”
“You’ve a new smokehouse, I see,” John said.
Still facing backwards, Brave Hunter parted his legs and sat down. “We’ve new mouths to feed and we build a Quaker church over there,” he said, pointing without looking.
John glanced at a half-built structure to the south. “I see it.”
Uneasy, Gideon brought his horse up alongside Uriah. The Cherokee were crowding closer, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. Then a woman touched his leg as he passed and smiled. Soon, he returned their smiles and put a hand out for them to touch. “Haven’t they ever seen Africans?” he asked.
“Never this close,” Brave Hunter answered. “Does the sun burn your skin as it does ours?”
“Aye. We burn, we bleed, we laugh, and we cry, the same as all people,” Gideon answered.
“Cherokee do not cry,” Brave Hunter shot back.
“I see.”
His face aglow, Laughing Rain stood in front of his modest four-room cabin with his arm around his full-blooded Cherokee wife. Dressed in long pants and a shirt, he patiently waited while Brave Hunter jumped down and helped tie the horses. When Uriah walked to him, Laughing Rain smiled his crooked smile. “You did come.”
“Not nearly soon enough,” Uriah answered. “How pleased I am to see you. Were you not a man, I would hug you.”
Shining Woman giggled. “I am not a man.”
“Indeed not,” Uriah said, wrapping his arms around her. “How I have missed the both of you.”
“And me?” Brave Hunter asked.
“Well, if you insist,” Uriah said, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Soon, he turned his attention back to Laughing Rain. “Now tell me, how is Polly?”
John winked at Shining Woman and shook Laughing Rain’s hand. “Papa, we’ve not yet given them their gifts.”
“You bring me a slave?” Laughing Rain asked.
“I don’t like you that much,” John teased. “A strong slave costs more than a horse.”
Shining Woman studied Gideon’s face. “He is in pain.”
“An injury to his back that refuses to heal,” John said. “We’ve tried everything.”
She walked behind Gideon, gently lifted his shirt, parted the bandage and then reeled back at the sight of his infection. “It will hurt, but it will heal,” she said.
“To heal, I’ll allow anything,” Gideon said.
“Brave Hunter, bring...” Shining Woman started. But the boy had already grabbed a small basket off a nail and was racing toward the forest.
Shining Woman turned to lead the way into the house. “Come, we eat.”
“Even me?” Gideon asked.
A full foot shorter, Laughing Rain slowly looked Gideon over from the tip of his shoes to the top of his head. “How much do you eat?”
“All he can get,” Uriah sneered.
“Crops were good. Come in,” Laughing Rain said, at last flashing his mischievous grin.
Uriah went in, glanced around the small, sparsely furnished sitting room and found a chair. “How I have longed for a proper meal. My son simply cannot cook.”
“And there’s a new complaint,” John said. He waited for Shining Woman to sit and then made himself comfortable in a sturdy high-backed chair. Nearby, a top-hinged shutter had been propped open, letting in fresh air.
“My son is in need of a wife,” Uriah blurted out. “Which reminds me, is Polly well?”
“Papa, you forget, they have not yet learned of Hester’s passing, and...” he went on before his father could speak, “if you desire a woman to cook for you, you should see to a wife of your own.”
“I cannot.”
“And why not?”
“Because,” Uriah shot back, “the only woman of any possible worth is married to Laughing Rain.”
John savored Shining Woman’s shy giggle. Her plain brown frock and white apron were made of hemp and her hair was in one long braid down her back. Eyeing her, he reached in his bag. “You requested blue silk, as I recall,” he said, handing her a package wrapped in newspaper.
Shining Woman quickly unwrapped it and ran her fingers across the glittering cloth. Then she hardened her expression. “Is there more?”
“There is, but it is a rather odd shade of green.”
“I’ll trade a sand painting,” she said.
“Like that one?” John asked, nodding toward the four-foot picture of a Cherokee child.
“If you like.”
“Done.” He pulled out a second, a third, and then a fourth package. “I couldn’t decide which color,” he added, watching her eyes widen with delight.
“My friend, we are greatly in your debt,” Uriah said to Laughing Rain. “How will we ever repay you for finding Polly? Speaking of Polly...”
“I’ll have three horses and two pounds of gunpowder,” Laughing Rain interrupted.
“Have you learned thievery since last we met? And Can you not answer a simple question? Is Polly well?”
“Papa, we...” John started to say.
“Oh glory be, John, let the man speak.”
Laughing Rain nodded toward a seat for Gideon, waited until Gideon declined and then made himself comfortable in a chair opposite John. Taking a deep breath, he folded his arms and smiled. “Is there no gift for me?”
“Must you always side with him?” Uriah grumbled.
“The Cherokee take no sides.”
“How convenient,” Uriah muttered, getting up. “If you must know, I brought a musket all the way from London, not that you deserve it,” he went on, his voice fading as he headed out the door to the horses. As soon as he was gone, Laughing Rain leaned toward John. “I did not know about your wife.”
“How could you?”
“But I told Polly you had married.”
“Oh. Well, I did not intend to keep it from her.”
“But John,” Laughing Rain tried.
Too quickly, Uriah came back. “Here it is,” he said, handing the shiny new long-barreled musket to Laughing Rain. “You will not find one better in the whole Empire.”
“Is it loaded?” Laughing Rain asked, pointing the gun toward the top of the hearth and then checking the sight.
Uriah walked back to his seat and sat down. “Of course it’s loaded. There are wild beasts in the woods, you know.”
“And savage Indians,” Laughing Rain said, feeling the weight of the gun with his right hand and then his left.
John watched his friend admire the musket for a moment before he asked, “Will the Cherokee join the Muskhogeans?”
“The Cherokee will protect themselves,” Laughing Rain answered. “But when the white man attacks, he does not ask if we are Cherokee or Muskhogean.”
“Are you expecting an attack?” John asked.
“The Great Meadow quickly fills and some white men go across the Ohio River. Others go west beyond the mighty river or south into Muskhogean land, but most want the first land they see...our land. The Shawnee have taken a thousand white scalps, and still the white man comes. The Cherokee will not be driven from his land. It is the only home he knows.”
“Did they harm Polly?” Uriah demanded.
“Her ribs were broken, but that is all,” Laughing Rain answered.
“Praise God,” sighed Uriah. “I’ve been beside myself with worry.”
; Laughing Rain’s smile still hadn’t faded. “She has changed.”
“Not too much, I hope,” Uriah said. “I rather enjoyed her the way she was.”
“She is wiser.”
John rolled his eyes. “I should hope so. She shouldn’t have been in the forest alone. Did she say what happened?”
“The Choctaw took her. They wished to trade her for guns and firewater at the British post, but the Shawnee, Tecumseh wanted her. He gave two horses, six blankets and three muskets.”
“A fortune, but why?” John asked.
“He believes she is the Great Spirit’s daughter,” Laughing Rain answered.
“I see,” Uriah said. “This Tecumseh, do you know him?”
“I have seen him. Tecumseh holds much vengeance for the whites who killed his father, yet, he forbids torture.”
“Then he did not harm Polly?” Uriah asked.
“Papa, a man who gives a fortune would not harm his property.”
“He believes Polly is the Great Spirit’s daughter,” Laughing Rain said again.
“Why?” Uriah asked.
“He was waiting on the bank of the Ohio to attack the Lewis barge when they first traveled west. But when night came and Mister Lewis tied the raft to the bank, the family ate no meal. Even so, Polly sang with a peaceful face as though her stomach were full. Her song seemed to calm the waters and brought joy to Tecumseh’s heart. So in the night, he hunted and left food on the raft. For days, he followed the Lewis family until they settled near the Great Meadow. Then, when his heart was heavy, he returned to hear Polly sing.”
“I cannot wait to hear her sing myself,” Uriah put in. “Why didn’t he bring Polly home?”
“The Illinois attacked the Shawnee and took her. The Shawnee had the Great Spirit’s daughter and the Illinois wanted her, but for them, Polly would not sing. The Illinois kept her two winters and when the snow melted, they took her back to the Shawnee. This time, Tecumseh paid twenty beaver pelts and brought her home.”
Uriah pondered the story for a moment. “How happy her family must be to have her back.”
Shining Woman put a hand on her husband’s shoulder and lowered her eyes. “Spots,” she said.
“Oh...nooo,” Uriah softly groaned, bowing his head. “How many?”
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