American Dreams Trilogy

by Michael Phillips

  When Richmond and Malachi were on their way back to Greenwood with the youngest of the swimmers, The Cherokee Maiden continued its course downriver, now with only nine aboard: the two Shaw boys, the two Davidsons, thirteen-year-old Adam Lucas, and Cherity and her three young black maids in waiting, Darya Birch, sixteen, Kanika Black, fourteen, and thirteen-year-old Recene Patton.

  Five minutes after leaving Baker’s Hollow they began to feel the pull of the current, more swiftly now. Soon they heard the sound of white water ahead. The pulses of all nine quickened—the girls and Adam with fear, the Shaws and Davidsons in anticipation.

  They rounded a bend, the raft tilted once or twice, a few screams of thrill escaped the lips of two of the girls, and quickly the raft picked up speed.

  “Hang on!” shouted Seth. “Here we go!” Already the rush of water nearly drowned out his voice. “Steady on your poles, men… keep us off the rocks!”

  Cherity had long since abandoned the chair and now knelt on the deck with the others, crying out in gleeful terror as the raft tipped and rocked and swerved dangerously from one side to the other. Yelling and shouting, the four older boys frantically wielded their poles, but could not prevent the unwieldy craft from crashing into boulders along the river’s edge or submerged rocks beneath them. Whatever control they had had in calm water was gone, and they now spun and careened wildly out of control.

  A great trough in midriver tipped them precariously upright. Screams sounded from all nine simultaneously. The deck splashed with white spray. Adam lost his grip and slid along the slippery boards. Isaiah grabbed his hand and pulled him back into the center of the deck. The next instant the leading edge of the raft crashed with a mighty thud into a rock rising out of the rapids in the center of the flow. The rear tipped up nearly twenty degrees before the rush of current swept it to the right and around the rock, then fell suddenly again to horizontal. The jerking up and down and sideways motion threw several off their feet and knees. Suddenly Recene slipped off the edge into the churning water.

  “Seth!” cried Cherity.

  But Seth had seen her and instantly fell to his stomach and reached over the side for her hand. “Grab hold, Recene!” he cried.

  In spite of the rush and twisting of the raft, he managed to haul her back on deck. No sooner was she safe than another great whack! came from a boulder on the opposite bank. Adam, who had been trying to climb to his feet like the older boys, slipped and toppled into the current. Within seconds he was pulled into the center of the river and out of reach. Seth tossed down his pole, sprang to the near side of the raft, and dove in after him.

  Thomas now climbed from his knees and stood with his pole, desperately trying to keep them from colliding with any more obstacles. But rocks and boulders were coming at him so fast and with such fury he could hardly keep them away. Suddenly his pole caught at the base of a huge rock as they sped past. It bent, then snapped like a twig. Losing his balance from the twisting and sudden shattering in his hands, Thomas fell sideways. His head crashed against the wooden deck, and he rolled off into the turbulent flow. It was obvious as his form floated lifelessly away that he had been knocked senseless by the blow.

  Aaron and Isaiah glanced at each other, terrified by the sudden loss of their captain and his brother and paralyzed into inaction. Cherity saw their hesitation. The next instant, to the wide-eyed horror of the three black girls, she followed Seth into the river. Abandoned to themselves, the remaining black youths aboard were now more frightened than ever.

  Luckily the worst of the rapids were behind them. By the time The Cherokee Maiden floated leisurely and none the worse for wear out of the last of the white water and into the first of a series of gentle bends that would take it to the pool at the end of her voyage, Seth and Adam were already sitting onshore catching their breath, and Cherity was lugging Thomas toward them. He had still only begun to come to himself, and it was with great effort that Cherity managed to keep his head above the surface of the water once she finally found her feet under her on solid ground.

  “Guide her over here, Isaiah!” called Seth, standing to hail his first mate as he went to help Cherity with Thomas. “We’ll take a breather and load everyone back onboard.”

  By the time Malachi and eight or ten of his strongest men, along with the four teenage boys, had lifted the raft out of the water and hoisted it onto the back of a flatbed wagon an hour later, the adventure had so grown in the imagination of the witnesses, that Seth and Cherity were heroes for saving Thomas’, Adam’s, and Recene’s lives.

  But Seth, Thomas, Isaiah, and Aaron paid little attention to the talk. Thoroughly enchanted with the success of the first, they were already planning their next adventure!

  Later in the day Thomas found Cherity alone at the railing of the corral.

  He walked up with a sheepish look on his face. “Uh… thanks, Cherity,” he said. “I guess you saved my life.”

  “I don’t think it was all that heroic!” laughed Cherity. “I’m sure the cold water would have brought you around sooner or later.”

  “Yeah… but what if it had been later and I’d have found myself standing at the gates trying to talk somebody into letting me in.”

  “What… you mean into heaven?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You believe in heaven?”

  “Sure, I guess. Doesn’t everyone?”

  “Not me. I’m an atheist.”

  “Really—I didn’t think anyone was really an atheist. You mean you don’t believe in God? How come?”

  “I don’t know… I suppose because when I went to church what I heard didn’t make sense.”

  “Hmm…. Maybe I could agree with that. But… I don’t know. I don’t suppose I like all my dad’s talk about God all the time, but that doesn’t mean that God doesn’t exist out there somewhere. I just don’t like thinking he’s got his eye on me all the time. My dad thinks he can’t do anything without talking to God about it.”

  “I think your dad’s great,” said Cherity. “I just don’t believe in God, that’s all.”

  “You wouldn’t think he was so great if he’d been preaching at you all your life,” said Thomas, a little cynicism creeping into his tone.

  Cherity glanced toward Thomas in surprise. Thomas almost sounded angry toward his father, something she had never detected from either him or Seth before. But she let it pass.

  “Maybe… I don’t know,” she said. “My father never talks about God.”

  “Then you are lucky. That’s all my dad ever talks about. I get sick of it. Everyone around here thinks our family is strange.”

  Seventeen

  Early one afternoon after Seth, Richmond, and Thomas had completed a job in the barn and the black workers were just finishing the last threshing of the wheat, Seth walked out and saw Cherity in her boots, trousers, and hat sitting on the top fence rail of the horse pasture adjacent to the stables.

  Seth walked up behind her. It was obvious that there was nowhere else in all the world she would rather be. He leaned against the fence. Cherity glanced down at him with a smile.

  “You look at peace with the world,” said Seth, “like you would be happy to sit here with the horses forever.”

  “Maybe I would be,” sighed Cherity. “For all these years, I have dreamed of going to Kansas again. And yet now…”

  Her voice trailed away.

  “I thought you wanted to be a cowgirl out in the Wild West,” said Seth.

  “I did. But I don’t suppose it was really cows that held such a great attraction for me, but horses. So what do I need to go to Kansas for—there are all the horses one could ever hope for right here!”

  Seth continued to lean against the fence rails and Cherity sat for a minute in silence.

  “So… you’ve ridden most of these,” said Seth at length. “Which is your favorite mount?”

  “For what purpose?” said Cherity. “They’re all so different.”

  “All right, then… let’s say f
or a cross-country race of, say, four or five miles?”

  Cherity pondered the question a few seconds as she gazed intently into the pasture. “I think I would have to say Midnight.”

  “That would be my choice too,” rejoined Seth. “Although I would put the Grey Laird as almost her equal.”

  “In a sprint, perhaps,” said Cherity. “But over four miles, the Grey Laird would tire and Midnight would have more staying power.”

  “Would you like to put your money where your mouth is?” asked Seth.

  Eyes alighting at the sound of it, though she had no idea what he meant, Cherity glanced over at him.

  “What do you mean!” she said excitedly.

  “Not only do you know the horses, you know the hills and trails around Greenwood pretty well by now too, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I think so, though not so well as you.”

  “We shall see,” said Seth, looking up where she sat with a grin. “Here is my proposition: Let us each saddle a horse of our choice, and let us see who can reach Harper’s Peak first—by different routes.”

  Cherity’s face beamed in delight.

  “You’re on!” she said, turning around, bounding off the fence, and sprinting for the barn.

  “Wait!” said Seth, dashing after her. “We have to start together!”

  Cherity did not slow until she was inside. She ran straight for the saddle rack and removed the saddle that had come to be hers during her visit. It was old and almost black from years of use, fraying in a few spots but the most comfortable saddle she had ever used. In the meantime Seth called for Midnight and the Grey Laird and walked into the pasture to meet them as they came.

  Ten minutes later, both horses saddled, they were ready.

  “All right, we need some rules for this race,” said Seth. “I know the terrain better—”

  “But I have the best horse for the distance!” interjected Cherity with a grin.

  “That, young lady, you shall have to prove! As yet I concede nothing!

  Cherity giggled with anticipation.

  “But neither of us will take the direct trail straight up to the pasture and to the peak from there. That would be too easy. We will each have to find a different route. I will ride east, you will ride west from here. Then we will each find our own fastest way to the peak.”

  “When do we leave?”

  “As soon as you’re ready.”

  “Then I shall wait for you at the peak!” cried Cherity. She wheeled Midnight’s head around to the west, dug her heels into her side, and with a great cry of “Go… go!” galloped away, leaving Seth standing at the Grey Laird’s side, still tightening the cinches.

  “I will get you for that!” he yelled. Ten seconds later he was in the saddle and galloping in the opposite direction.

  Seth knew that Cherity’s assessment of the two horses’ relative strengths was exactly on the mark. She was not just skilled in the saddle, but she possessed a keen knowledge of the equine temperament as well. She had chosen her mount well. He knew that if he pushed the Laird too hard too early, he would indeed tire long before they reached the peak. This was a race of strategy not mere speed.

  Seth therefore did not urge the Grey Laird to a full gallop just yet. He would conserve his stamina as much as possible for a final sprint at the top of the ridge.

  His way took him through a dense thicket of fir and pine. He did not have a well-marked trail to follow but this route would bring him out at the eastern end of the high pasture. From there his way would be rocky and steep and possibly shorter than Cherity’s. If she chose her route well, however, she should reach the pasture first. In the direction she had taken a well-marked trail led from the western side of the pasture up to the high meadow. They had only been on it once together, and he wasn’t sure whether she remembered. If she did, he would have a difficult time overtaking her.

  Once they both emerged into the clearing of the high meadow, he would know how well she had chosen her route and how well she had ridden over the challenging terrain.

  Cantering at about three-quarter pace, Seth reached the end of the low road and leaned the Laird’s head toward the wood. The slope grew steep and soon he was fighting his way through the close-growing wood. He could not hope to gallop here but just keep the Laird going at a good gait until the trees thinned.

  A mile farther on the trees grew less dense. Gently Seth now picked up the Laird’s pace. Half mile more and he emerged onto the east-west path running halfway up the ridge. He wheeled the Grey Laird onto it and gave him rein. Still well within himself, Grey Laird broke into a gallop. A quarter mile farther on and the west extremity of the high pasture came into Seth’s view ahead.

  If he could just reach it and bear right across the grass to the slope before—

  Suddenly in the distance a rider broke into view, its majestic black flying across the meadow with gigantic strides. Even from this distance he could see great clumps of sod flying up behind the powerful hooves.

  “No!” Seth cried. “How could she—”

  There was no use wondering now. Cherity was much farther ahead of him than he had imagined possible!

  With his cry Seth saw her head turn toward him. On the wind he heard a laugh of mingled terror and delight to see her opponent across the way. She could have no way of knowing how they stood relative to one another. But Seth knew, unless the Laird was capable of a great sprint when he reached the high plateau, that she already had the race won.

  Both sprinted across their respective ends of the meadow, then began the final ascent, according to the rules of the game, neither making use of the more direct trail that stood halfway between them. Cherity reached the slope a good minute ahead of him and disappeared into the trees.

  Ten minutes of hard riding followed for both, having not merely to cover the rugged terrain but to pick the best footing while working their way toward the summit.

  Both reached the plateau at about the same time. A little over a mile separated them, but Harper’s Peak rose above the plateau closer to Cherity’s position than Seth’s. She slowed, glanced hurriedly to the right and left to make sure of her bearings, then kicked at Midnight’s sides. With yells and exhortations to summon all the speed she had left, she galloped east toward the peak. At about the same time, as Seth emerged onto the plateau, he did not slow for he was aware of his danger and knew the way well enough. He wheeled the Laird westward with a great shout.

  A minute or two later they each came into the other’s vision, sprinting straight for one another at full gallop. By now the Grey Laird, the swifter of the two, was moving at enormous speed. But Cherity reached the slope of Harper’s Peak first, turned toward it, casting a glance toward Seth about two hundred yards behind her, and made for the summit.

  “Now, Laird… give it all you’ve got!” yelled Seth. But he could tell that the Laird was tiring. The gap closed to a hundred and fifty yards, then a hundred. Every five seconds he saw Cherity’s auburn head turn back with a wild expression of unbounded pleasure and terror. But there was not enough ground left. Seth had closed to about seventy-five yards when he saw Cherity rein in ahead of him. He slowed, gave up the chase, and cantered in to join her at the peak.

  Cherity was laughing with such abandon as he reached her that she could hardly stop. Seth laughed too, for who cannot share in a companion’s joy.

  The sides of both horses surged in and out as they gasped for air. Breathing heavily himself, Seth leaned over the thin mane of his valiant steed for a moment to gain his breath, then dismounted. Recovering her own wind, Cherity fell to the ground, still laughing.

  “I have never had so much fun in my life!” she said. “Both times I saw you, it sent such a charge of fear through me… like one of those dreams you have as a child when you are being chased! And then when we were riding straight toward each other back there, it was so wonderfully terrifying! I was sure you would catch me!”

  “I had no chance!” laughed Seth. “When I saw you
so far ahead of me in the meadow, I knew I would never catch you.”

  “You almost did!”

  “The Grey Laird had enough left for a final sprint, but not quite enough to overtake you. He ran out of energy up the final hill.”

  Seth walked to where Cherity lay and offered his hand.

  “You indeed chose your steed well, my lady,” he said affecting the voice of a medieval knight. “I congratulate you on a victory nobly won. I shall think of some suitable prize to bestow for your triumph.”

  She half sat and reached up. Their hands met. She nodded in receipt of his acknowledgment of her victory and shook his hand. Seth pulled her to her feet. Gradually their hands relaxed and they pulled apart. Still breathing heavily, they walked silently away from the horses, gazing down upon the landscape below.

  “You’re right,” said Seth at length. “That was just about one of the grandest rides I’ve ever had. No one around here can keep up with me. I don’t say that boastfully, only that it’s hard to find a challenging race. Not that I always want to be racing, but it’s fun every once in a while.”

  “We’ll have to do it again, taking different routes and different horses!” said Cherity.

  “I don’t know if I am a match for you!” laughed Seth.

  As he glanced around, Seth spotted something. He ran a little way off, stooped down to the ground, then ran back and handed it to her.

  “What is it?” she asked as she took it.

  “It’s called a Virginia bluebell. It will be your trophy—a memento of our ride.”

  Cherity took it with a gentle smile but said nothing.

  Not only were both horses and riders fatigued, neither Seth nor Cherity was anxious for the ride to end. As they mounted, they therefore began their way back down from the peak slowly. Gradually their conversation drifted into more serious channels.

  “Do you think it very bad of me not to believe in God?” Cherity asked as they went.

  The question first struck Seth as humorous and a smile broke out on his face. Then he realized that Cherity was in earnest. He thought a moment.