Under the Tulip Poplar

by Diane Ashley

  As soon as Mrs. Quinn appeared to be recovering, the pastor continued. “I’m sorry for barging in with such distressing news, but I fear you are all in danger if we do not take quick action.”

  Asher turned his attention to the older man. “Why would Mrs. Quinn or her family be in any danger?”

  “The townspeople seem to believe that Mr. Taylor’s neighbor may have been involved.” Pastor Miller finally remembered to remove his hat.

  “But why would they think that?” Rebekah asked. “Wohali and Noya had nothing to do with any raid. They’ve been right here with us.”

  Asher left the other two men and came to where she sat with Aunt Dolly. “A mob won’t be logical. They will want to hang any Indians they find.”

  The pastor nodded his agreement. “They’re looking for scapegoats to bear the guilt for all the Indians.”

  Mr. Taylor stood and beckoned to the women. “I guess we should load up the wagon. We can hide both of them in the bed like we did when I first brought Rebekah here.”

  Asher pictured them meandering through Nashville on the lumbering wagon. “Do you think you can get away safely in a wagon?”

  Pastor Miller crushed the brim of his hat with nervous fingers. “I think it would be better to take my buggy. It’s much faster and has a fresh horse hitched to it. Five passengers will be a squeeze, but comfort is not our biggest concern.”

  “We can saddle a horse and tie it to the back of the buggy.” Mr. Taylor looked out the front window while he considered the pastor’s offer. “Then as soon as we get out of Nashville, Dolly or Rebekah can ride the horse.”

  Mrs. Quinn pushed herself into an upright position. “I’m not leaving my home.”

  Rebekah’s father turned to her. “Don’t be silly. A single woman is an easy target for an angry mob. We won’t leave you to face them alone. You’ll have to come with us.”

  Asher raised a hand to get Mr. Taylor’s attention. “I’ll stay behind and make sure no one hurts Mrs. Quinn or her home.”

  “I’ll be here, too.” Pastor Miller’s mouth quirked upward. “After all, you’ll be in my buggy.”

  “Thank you, Asher, Pastor.” Mrs. Quinn nodded and sent a smile in his direction.

  Asher straightened his shoulders. It was time to take charge. “We’ll need to get that buggy out of here before there’s real trouble. Mrs. Quinn, would you go and tell Wohali and his wife what’s happened while Mr. Taylor and Pastor Miller get the buggy and the horses ready?” He hesitated a moment before turning to Rebekah. “Maybe you can show me where to find some extra blankets. We’re likely to need something to help hide your passengers.”

  Rebekah’s brown eyes had rounded, and he thought he could see a hint of admiration reflected in them. Good. It was time for her to understand that the boy she’d fallen in love with was a full-grown man, capable of dealing with any situation that arose. He followed her into the hallway, hoping to get a moment to tell her how much he still cared for her.

  She opened a closet door and pulled at a tidy stack of wool blankets. “Will this be enough?”

  As she turned to see his answer, Asher reached past her to help her hold the stack of blankets. Her forehead was barely an inch from his mouth. How he wanted to press a kiss against her soft skin—

  A sound behind them jerked Asher’s head up. He stepped back and turned to find Wohali and his wife standing at the foot of the stairs. Their faces were expressionless, but he could feel heat burning his cheeks.

  Rebekah shoved the quilts toward him. “Wohali, Noya, I’m so glad you’re here. Did Dolly tell you what’s going on?”

  Asher could see the confusion in Noya’s eyes. “We had nothing to do with the Indians who attacked those poor farmers. Why are they trying to hurt us?”

  He felt Rebekah’s gaze on him. Did she think he could explain the situation? The suspicions on both sides were deep and unyielding. But what answer could he give? He shrugged his shoulders.

  Wohali looked down at his wife. “They are angry and frightened people who would not listen to us. It is the same with those of our tribe who blame all white men for the evil behavior of a few.”

  “Rebekah!” Mr. Taylor called to them from the back stairs. “Hurry up. We have to leave now.”

  Asher shifted his pile of blankets to one arm and held the other out for Rebekah to take, relieved when she rested her hand lightly on his forearm. Maybe she didn’t realize how close he’d come to embarrassing both of them.

  He led the way to the back door and the alley where Pastor Miller’s buggy awaited them. Mr. Taylor was already seated in front and held the reins. Asher assisted Rebekah into the buggy beside her father before helping Pastor Miller tuck several quilts around Wohali and Noya, who had climbed into the back among sacks of potatoes and flour. They were fairly well concealed from a cursory glance, but he didn’t know if it would fool anyone who came looking for scapegoats.

  Pastor Miller stood to one side of the buggy, his head bowed. Asher could see his lips moving. He wished he could conjure up the words to a prayer, but nothing came to mind, so instead he watched mutely as Mr. Taylor prodded the horses and the buggy careened around a corner.

  As they disappeared from sight and Asher heaved a sigh of relief at their escaping in time, the full extent of what he had done struck him. What if Rebekah’s Indian neighbors had been involved in the massacre? Should he have encouraged Rebekah and her father to wait for the townspeople and turn Wohali over to them? He may have helped a murderer escape justice. If Colonel Lewis or General Jackson found out what he had done this afternoon, he would not be pleased.

  But in the same instant, he acknowledged he would gladly risk a bit of their ire to have Rebekah look at him again with respect—and hopefully renewed love—in her eyes.

  Fourteen

  Rebekah carried a heavy basket of wet clothing to the ropes Pa had rigged between two tulip poplars. The strong smell of Ma’s lye soap made her nose wrinkle as she hung sheets and quilts to dry in the warm sunshine. She hummed as she wrung out a pillowcase and tossed it over the rope, enjoying the time alone.

  She loved Eleanor, but her younger sister asked a lot of questions. What was it like in Nashville? Had she seen pirates in New Orleans? Was it fun to dance the night away in ballrooms? Was she going to marry Captain Landon? Ma had finally taken pity on Rebekah, sending her around to the side of the house to start drying the laundry while she and Eleanor finished the boiling and scrubbing.

  The creak of a wagon turned Rebekah’s attention from her task. She shaded her eyes, trying to make out who was coming to visit. She hoped it was not someone with more bad news. The trip from Nashville to Wohali’s farm had been tense yesterday. She had been worried the whole time they would be attacked by either bloodthirsty Indian braves or enraged white settlers. It had been a relief to finally get home and stow Pastor Miller’s buggy in the barn.

  As the wagon drew nearer, she realized it was Pastor Miller returning her father’s wagon. What a relief! He would be coming for his buggy and to report on what had happened yesterday after they escaped.

  Rebekah picked up the last piece of wash and flung it over Pa’s rope, making a note to herself to straighten it later. She then hurried to the front of the cabin, where the pastor was dismounting. “Welcome, Pastor Miller. What news do you bring?”

  “Your aunt Dolly is fine. There were a few tense moments when the townspeople realized that all of you had left, but they dispersed after Captain Landon warned that their actions could put them in jail.”

  “That’s wonderful news. So Asher. . .I mean Captain Landon. . .wasn’t hurt either?” She could feel warmth in her cheeks at the mistake. It was one thing to refer to him by his given name when she was talking to her family—they all knew she and Asher had grown up together—but Pastor Miller might think she was being forward. He couldn’t know that she and Asher had an agreement. Or at least they used to have an agreement. Maybe she should stop thinking of him as Asher. Their future together w
as no longer certain.

  “The captain wasn’t hurt.” Pastor Miller smiled and put a hand on her shoulder. “He is a good man, Rebekah.”

  Rebekah realized the pastor might be able to help her with her confusion. “Yes, I think he is. But sometimes I worry about the other people in Nashville who seem to be influencing the way he thinks. He is always listening to that Colonel Lewis, and I don’t know if he is a good example.”

  “I have seen the Lewis family in church upon occasion and have spoken with them. They seem to be nice folks who are close to General Jackson. Do you have some reason to worry about them?”

  “Not exactly. Although they seem to support the removal of the Indians to the Western Territory.” She looked up at him. “I don’t like the idea of taking away their lands and homes.”

  “I applaud you for your sentiment, but I am afraid that there are many who would disagree with you. They point to events like the raid on the Marshall property to prove that we cannot allow the Indians to continue living among us.”

  “What do you believe, Pastor Miller?”

  “I believe that we Christians have a duty to spread the gospel. God has given us a wonderful opportunity to show love and charity to a people who have never been exposed to His plan for salvation.”

  “I don’t think Ash—Captain Landon would agree with you. He seems to be focused on advancing his career rather than his Christian duty.”

  “Why do you say that? He helped us get Wohali to safety, didn’t he?”

  Rebekah looked down at her apron. “Yes, but he often quotes Colonel Lewis and talks about the big fine house he wants to build. He won’t listen to me when I tell him that a simple cabin will be sufficient.”

  “I think he is like most men.” Pastor Miller rubbed his chin. “He wants to provide the best for the woman he loves.”

  “But what if that’s not what I want?”

  “Have you taken your worries to Jesus?”

  Rebekah nodded. “I’ve prayed so hard that Asher would change back to the man he was before the war. Everything was easier then. He and I thought alike, and he listened to my hopes and dreams instead of telling me that I am being foolish or tenderhearted.”

  “Are you sure you thought exactly alike, Rebekah? Or did you misinterpret his dreams to make them match your own?”

  She wanted to protest Pastor Miller’s words. But what if he was right? Had she been mistaken about what Asher wanted? “I. . .I don’t know.” Her breath caught on a sob.

  “You can never go back, but I believe you and Captain Landon can still have a future together if that’s what God wants for you. Remember that you are God’s beloved child. He wants the very best for you, and as long as you are willing to follow Him, you will find more blessings than you can imagine.”

  Rebekah wondered how this man could sound so sure of himself. He must have suffered disappointments and setbacks like anyone else. Yet faith flowed from him like a mighty current, sweeping all doubt away.

  A small ray of hope broke through her confusion and worry. She would trust God to work it all out.

  ❧

  Asher followed Colonel Lewis into the two-story log building that was General and Mrs. Jackson’s home. The general had named his farm Rural Retreat but now called it The Hermitage, which meant the same thing. Asher had expected something more ostentatious for such a wealthy and important person, but this house was nearly as plain as the home in which he’d been raised and quite rustic when compared to the houses in Nashville.

  The black house slave led them past a dining room that held at least a dozen chairs around a long plank table. They followed her to the door of the parlor to find the Jacksons engaged in prosaic activities, their chairs bracketing a bright window. He was perusing the newspaper while she embroidered a colorful design on a snowy white cloth.

  Asher noticed the parlor walls had been covered with decorative paper that he supposed was nice. A round rag rug divided the room into two main parts—one side for leisure activities, the other side for business. The business side held a slightly smaller version of the dining-room table. On it stood a pair of candelabra, a scattering of maps and papers, and several haphazard stacks of books. A wooden armchair was situated on the far side of the desk, and a couple of simple stools on the other side stood ready for planning strategies.

  General Jackson stood when they entered. “Rachel, I believe you know Colonel Lewis and his companion—”

  Rachel Jackson interrupted her husband with a raised hand. “There is no need for you to introduce the dashing Captain Landon. How pleasant to see you and Colonel Lewis. I trust our mutual acquaintance, Miss Rebekah Taylor, enjoys continued health.”

  Asher crossed the room and bowed over her hand. “She was in a bit of a hurry the last time I saw her, but I believe she is doing well.”

  “Yes, we heard about the commotion yesterday.” Jackson frowned. “That’s the main reason I invited you and the colonel over.”

  Rachel put away her needlework. “I believe I will take a short walk while you gentlemen have your discussion.”

  They waited until she left the parlor before taking their seats on either side of Jackson’s desk. He pushed the candelabra and books to one corner and spread a map before them. “This is the location of an Indian village that may be hiding our culprits.”

  It took Asher a moment to get his bearings. The area outside Nashville was mostly wilderness, with small communities spread around it in an arc that followed the course of the Cumberland River. Jackson had his finger on a large longhouse shape that had been drawn at a curve in the river, indicating an Indian village. He moved his hand across an uninhabited area toward the land where Asher’s parents had raised him. The hair on his neck stood on end when Asher realized the victims lived so close to the area in which he’d grown up. That meant they were very close to where Rebekah was right now.

  “Everyone in Nashville is terrified, and the local authorities have asked for our help. You’ll be working with the sheriff, but it will probably be up to you to find the culprits and bring them to justice.”

  Asher looked into Jackson’s blazing eyes. “We’ll find them, sir.”

  He held the older man’s gaze for a minute or two before Jackson nodded. “Good. Colonel Lewis said you were a true patriot.”

  Asher looked toward Colonel Lewis, who was still studying the map. “The colonel is very kind, sir. I was privileged to escort him and his family along the Natchez Road.”

  “You look familiar. I know you were a Tennessee militiaman, but have you performed some other service?” asked General Jackson.

  “Yes, sir. You assigned me to be the liaison for William Weatherford.”

  “Ah, yes. Chief Red Eagle. Now I remember you. Good job you did on that assignment.” Jackson rolled up the map. “No wonder the colonel speaks so highly of you. I can always use a man who quietly attends the business of his country. This is a matter of gravest importance. There are not many men who can accomplish the task I’ve set for you.”

  Asher’s face heated as though he’d been outside farming. “Thank you, sir.”

  Colonel Lewis twirled his mustache. “Something has to be done about these Indians, Andrew.”

  The general’s intense gaze left Asher’s face and turned to the colonel. “Something is being done. I have already begun the process of drawing up a treaty between the government of the United States and the Cherokee Nation. While I sympathize with their wishes to retain their heritage and culture, it cannot be tolerated within the bounds of United States territory. They will either pledge their allegiance to our country, or they will leave it.”

  Asher’s heart thumped in his chest like a drum. He realized he did agree with every word. This was an exciting time, a time when American supremacy was unquestioned. They had bought the right to expand westward with both their assets and their lives. Failure to demand absolute compliance from the Indian peoples would be nothing less than treason. God had smiled down on them by giving
them this fertile land, and Asher would do everything in his power to ensure that his countrymen were allowed to fulfill their destiny.

  “When I was about your age, Captain, I came west with little but the sense God gave me and a determination to succeed no matter the cost. I have never bowed to tyranny. Nor do I believe that our government should be controlled by the rich to the detriment of all free men. It is my duty and yours to uphold the words of America’s Constitution.”

  “Quite right,” said Colonel Lewis.

  “Haven’t we bled for our country?” Jackson banged his fist on the table. “Why then should we sit back and allow shortsighted politicians in the East to dictate how and where we shall govern ourselves?”

  Asher snapped a salute, his back ramrod straight. He was in the presence of greatness. General Jackson was a man of integrity and a force of will that would never bow down. He was lucky to be able to work for him and hoped he could measure up to the general’s expectations.

  Rachel Jackson came back into the parlor. “I could hear you thundering all the way outside, husband. I thought surely you were being attacked by one of your visitors.”

  The fire in the general’s eyes softened to admiration when he looked at his wife. It reminded Asher of the way he felt whenever Rebekah walked into a room. But he was glad she was not with him today. She might not have appreciated the general’s words. Not that she wasn’t a patriot. She was just tenderhearted.

  He remembered when they were barely more than children and she had discovered a mockingbird that had fallen out of its nest. She had convinced him to help her nurse the bird back to health. When he’d been certain the mockingbird could survive on its own, Asher had met her at their tulip poplar, and they had set the bird free. He had comforted her while she cried, not exactly understanding her emotional outburst. Then he had shared her joy when the mockingbird returned in a few weeks to build a nest in their tree.