“Two hours later, while darkness still covered the land, the man and boy, my nephew and I, made our way on horseback away from the land our people had possessed for more generations than any of their wisest men now remembered.
“I knew we must travel far beyond the borders of the Cherokee and keep our identity hidden. Surely the assassins would not soon forget either the son or the brother of Swift Water, or, as it now turns out, even his posterity.
“I knew your grandfather well, my child,” he said, looking at Chigua. “He was a fine man and grieved the rest of his life for you. I recall vividly the day you and your sisters were taken and your grandfather’s bitter tears. We all mourned with him.”
A deep silence fell and lasted several minutes.
“When years after my escape with Swift Horse,” Brown resumed at length, “the conflicts of the 1830s consumed our people, I knew I could stay away no longer. I had a good life in Virginia, among people I considered friends, most of all your grandfather Davidson,” he said, turning toward Seth. “But to me had been entrusted the five rings from Nanye’hi, the Beloved Woman of the Cherokee. And when our lands were taken and our people were doomed to be removed from what land remained, the spirit of the white feather filled me. I knew I must return to my people and be a voice for peace, as Chief Attacullaculla and Nanye’hi would have wanted. For such they entrusted me with this ring.”
He pulled from somewhere in the folds of his tunic a ring identical to Cherity’s that hung from a chain around his neck that they had hardly noticed before, a chain of pure gold.
He glanced toward Cherity, then Chigua.
“The ring you are wearing is of the seven, Miss Waters, from your father which I gave to him. And you, young daughter of Eaglefeather, is it too much to hope that you may once also have been in possession of a similar ring—the one I have not been able to account for all this time, that of the Ghigua herself, passed through her daughter Cata’quin Harlan?”
Chigua pulled out a ring identical to the other two which had been hanging from a leather strip around her own neck. For the first time they saw the Cherokee Wise Man register unconcealed surprise as he gasped in astonishment.
“However were you able to conceal it during the years of your captivity?” he exclaimed.
“You must meet my husband,” smiled Chigua. “Were it not for him, both the ring and I am sure my very life, would have been lost.”
“Then the Cherokee owe him a great deal.”
“As do I.”
“The sacred trust we three share is thus greater even than I suspected—three of the rings together again at last, and worn by their rightful descendents. Surely this is a fortuitous time for our people.”
Again Brown paused briefly, then continued with his story, turning toward Cherity.
“When I knew that I must return to my people, I first sojourned north to see your father one last time. I left him a letter detailing much of what I have told you today,” he added, glancing with question toward Cherity as if to ask if she knew whether it had survived her father’s death.
Cherity shook her head. “He did not show such a letter to me,” she said. “I know nothing of it.”
“He gave me the letter,” interjected Seth, glancing between Brown and Cherity. “It is in my father’s safe,” he added, glancing toward Cherity with a smile. “I have been waiting for the right time to give it to you.”
“From Boston,” Brown went on, “I returned briefly through Virginia and back to my people in North Carolina. I put a white feather in my hair on that day and have not ceased to wear it since. I knew it was time to fulfill that which Nanye’hi had spoken of to me.
“I could not, however, identify myself as Long Canoe Brown without raising many questions and endangering others besides myself. It was best that my identity remain unknown until the times of danger were past. I had hoped such a time would have come long before now. It was my wish to have seen your father again, daughter of Swift Horse. I have thought of him nearly every day of my life. Yet it appears that for all my efforts toward peace and reconciliation, the animosity within the tribe remains as great as ever. Therefore, as your father’s identity was kept secret, so too has mine these many years. My appearance again in North Carolina as a man already gaining in years caused more than a few questions. But I took care not to settle among my own kinsmen and kept mostly to myself. People gradually assumed me to be a widower from some other part of the tribe. The only one who knew my true identity was Degodoga, he known as Stand Watie.”
“Why did you not come back until now?” asked Seth.
“That is a question even I cannot answer,” said Brown thoughtfully. “The time was not right. Persecution and treachery were rampant. Nor was travel as easy then as it is today. No trains connected the territory with the East. The Removal Trail was a gruesome ordeal and thousands starved to death before my eyes. I was not anxious to make such a journey again. Gradually the years crept up behind me.
“Even during my years in Virginia, I suspected that my movements might have been known. Long after arriving in the Indian Territory I heard rumors, through those I was in contact with, that told me that others knew that Swift Horse was still alive and had offspring who would, with him, inherit the vengeance of the blood law. Your life,” he added, glancing toward Cherity, “was in danger more than your father realized. That is another reason I did not return. I did not want to run the risk of bringing that danger upon others. What can you tell me of your mother and sisters?”
“My mother died when I was born,” answered Cherity. “My two sisters are both married and have families. But why would someone like me be in danger?” she asked.
“Probably because of me,” answered Brown. “Rumors have circulated for years about wealth stolen from the tribe. Those rumors came to be associated with your father, when in fact they were a mingling of many rumors, with a germ of truth at its center that had more to do with me than him. For indeed when I lived here I did possess a certain amount of gold that had been taken from our lands.”
Cherity drew in a sharp breath and glanced at Seth with an expression that said, I told you so!
“Does this have anything to do with it?” said Seth. From a pocket in his coat he pulled out a piece of a torn map that he had brought with him.
Brown smiled. Another long silence followed.
“It is a portion of a map in my own hand,” he said at length. “I drew it prior to leaving this place. It is in the old Cherokee triangle code. I presume it is the portion I gave to your grandfather many years ago.”
“Actually… no,” said Seth with a confused expression. “This is from what Cherity’s father gave me for safekeeping. I planned to show it to Cherity here today. I never knew anything about my father having something like this.”
“But he does!” exclaimed Cherity. “Or at least he does now!”
“What do you mean?” asked Seth.
“Mr. Beaumont had it,” she said. “I found him with it here at the Brown house.” She looked toward Mr. Brown, suddenly realizing how different it now sounded to call it that. “But I grabbed it and took it to your father. He said he would keep it safe until more was known, but that we should keep quiet about it. I assumed he told you about it. And all along you had a piece too, from my father!”
Brown’s brow clouded as he listened. “And this one you call Beaumont, he would be the son of my former neighbor, Giles Beaumont?”
Seth nodded.
“I remember him as a lad,” said Brown. “Your father had an older brother… and the two were inseparable friends.”
“Yes, my uncle Clifford. He was killed almost exactly the same time you disappeared—thrown from a horse it was assumed. It is a mystery that has remained unsolved all these years, along with your disappearance… until now. At least one of them is cleared up. I cannot wait to tell my father about you. He will be so anxious to see you!”
“And I him. I have much to thank him for.”
Brown was pensive and thoughtful for several seconds.
“How did this man Beaumont get the piece of map you found him with, Miss Waters,” he mused, “when I gave it to your grandfather, unless…” his voice trailed off.
“Well, he doesn’t have it now!” said Cherity. “I made sure of that.”
Brown listened with interest, then rose, went to his carpetbag, and produced another bit of yellowed paper with similar lines and markings.
“As you no doubt realized,” said Brown, “these were pieces from a larger, more complete map. By it I meant to hide much that had been entrusted to me. I drew the map, then went to see your grandfather. I gave him a third and took a third to Swift Horse in Boston. That was before you were born, Miss Waters, but I did know of your two sisters. I kept this third portion of the map myself. It was my way to ensure that what I had hidden would never be found unless there was a coming together of all three. Even then, as we now see, rumors somehow got out about what I possessed.”
“But what is it?” asked Cherity. “What is it that you hid?”
“What do you know of the Cherokee gold?” asked Brown.
Cherity again glanced at Seth.
“Only that gold was discovered on Cherokee lands in 1828, I think it was,” he said, “and that much of what the Cherokee had unearthed and mined of it was hidden in caves before the removal to the West to keep it from being stolen.”
Brown nodded. “You are very well informed.”
“Much was explained to me by Cherity’s father,” answered Seth.
“Some felt,” Brown went on, “that the gold would provide the opportunity to build our nation again, if it could be preserved. Of course I had been long away from North Carolina when the main reserves of gold were discovered.”
He paused thoughtfully, again allowing his mind to drift back through time.
“Then came a night, here in this very house, when it was clear that our people would be removed from the lands of our posterity. It was 1833. Four leaders of our tribe came to see me in secret—the only four who knew of my identity and whereabouts. Degodoga and his brother Kilakeena and Kahnungdatlegeh and his son Shahtlelohskee. They told me of their decision to form a new Treaty party among the Cherokee, as well as to discuss my hiding what gold and other tribal treasures they might safely manage to get to me.
“Throughout the following year there were more visits. Much gold indeed was brought here for safekeeping. Yet as I said, soon I knew that I must return to my people for the times were troublesome. Even then I suspected that I was being watched. I hid the gold and recorded my movements with an extensive map which I tore in thirds, knowing that the gold would rest forever unfound until either I returned for it myself, or until all three portions of the map were brought together again by those I would entrust with them.
“Then I left it to fate and both the Davidson and Waters posterity to discover that which could only be discovered should a divine hand drive events toward a common center. It would seem that such a time has indeed come.”
On the floor before them, Brown now set the two torn portions of the paper he had drawn over thirty years before them side by side. “If indeed your father possesses the final third, young Davidson, I think you will discover that it completes the drawing precisely.”
“Oh, oh—just look!” exclaimed Cherity. “The markings are just like on the skin painting over the mantel. And—”
Suddenly she glanced toward Chigua whose eyes were also riveted on the two pieces of paper.
“We have seen these marks before!” said both women in unison.
“Where?” said Seth.
“There is one on a tree,” replied Cherity.
“And another on a rock beside the opening to a cave!” added Chigua.
Even stoic Long Canoe Brown now began to chuckle at their enthusiasm. “Perhaps you will not need my map,” he said, “and did not need me to return at all, to find what was hidden. Yet I suspect that you may need it in the end.”
“Let’s go get the third piece from Mr. Davidson!” said Cherity, excitedly jumping up.
“Don’t forget, Cherity,” said Seth, “the house and this land, and everything on and in it, belong again to Mr. Brown. They are his treasures to decide what to do with.”
“Of course, I’m sorry,” said Cherity, turning to Mr. Brown. “I was just excited.”
Again Brown laughed. “Think nothing of it, my child,” he said. “I am delighted at your enthusiasm. But my thoughts remain on the man Beaumont. I know something about him that gives me cause for grave concern. Before anything more is done, we must seek other wise counsel. It is time I met with your father, young Davidson.”
Seventy-Seven
When Richmond Davidson, who happened to be outside, saw the slow approach of the four riders descending out of the woods toward Greenwood, whether he suspected the full truth or not, he was certainly arrested in midstride by the imposing sight. Beside his son rode a man of many years, of darkened and weathered skin, in the full garb of an Indian. It was to see a phantom-dream come to life before his very eyes. He stood and waited, mesmerized.
By the time the riders had drawn within a hundred yards, he recognized the man with Seth well enough. The enigmatic Cherokee had seemed old to Richmond as a young man, and after both of them had left Dove’s Landing he had never allowed himself to imagine that he would see him again in this life.
A sharp intake of breath was the only sign of his momentary amazement, then a great smile spread across his face and he strode out to meet them.
“It’s Mr. Brown, Dad!” called Seth. “Mr. Brown has come back!”
It would be impossible to say which of the two venerable men was most moved by the encounter. The four horses drew in. Brown sat a moment simply gazing down at the son of his friend Grantham Davidson, now a man himself. A solitary tear stole down his cheek and he climbed wearily down from the back of the horse.
The two wise men, each revered with greatness in their respective cultures by those capable of perceiving true greatness, stood for a moment simply gazing upon one another with full hearts, then slowly embraced.
“On behalf of my father, who loved you like a brother,” said Richmond softly, “and for myself and my whole family… welcome back to Greenwood. We have longed for this day.”
“Thank you, young Davidson,” said Brown in a husky voice more full of emotion than is customary for a Cherokee to show. “You are your father… as your son is you. I see more clearly than ever that I did not mistake many years ago in leaving all in his hands.”
They fell apart, gazed into one another’s eyes a moment longer, then Richmond turned back toward the house.
“Come,” he said, placing a hand on Brown’s shoulder. “I want you to meet my wife and Seth’s brother. Then I want to hear all—all that you are at liberty to tell me.”
A blanket of solemnity and antiquity hung over Greenwood. Everything seemed to grow quiet out of respect for their honored visitor. The muscles and machinery of work stilled. Even the animals, the birds, the very air itself grew calm.
Richmond was most interested in Brown the man, and in the aging Cherokee’s relationship with his father and what he could reveal about Greenwood during the critical years of his own absence in England. The two men walked and talked late into their first night together. It being well after midnight before they began to think of retiring, Brown consented to spending the night in one of the guest rooms at Greenwood. The next day resumed according to much the same pattern. After breakfast the two were out walking in the arbor together, and so it continued. As Brown began to speak of returning to his own former home for the duration of his visit, however, Richmond’s countenance darkened and he sought to dissuade him.
“You can see that we have ample room for many guests,” he said. “Your presence here has been a great boon to everyone’s spirits. And to be entirely candid, there are other reasons that I would prefer you not to stay up there alone. I have cause to b
e concerned for your safety.”
Brown nodded seriously. Then followed a lengthy discussion about much that Richmond had long suspected concerning events surrounding Brown’s abrupt disappearance from Virginia many years before.
But Richmond did not occupy all of Brown’s waking hours. The young women who represented the posterity of two of the four major Cherokee lineages, and Cherity as the daughter of his own nephew with whom he had fled North Carolina, were much on the old man’s heart. It did not take long for deep bonds of filial affection to develop between the two girls and he who became for them a beloved grandfather. Between Brown and Chigua, possibly because she had been part of the removal and for so many years known no blood family at all and because he had known her grandfather, the connection became like one of true family.
Cherity, however, as intrigued and curious as she was about her Cherokee roots, was nearly beside herself wondering when Richmond and Mr. Brown would get around to the missing portion of the map!
At long last Richmond and Brown began to discuss one of the primary reasons for Brown’s return, the retrieval of those Cherokee artifacts and treasures that had been removed from North Carolina for safekeeping prior to what was now called the Trail of Tears. One of the factors in Brown’s hesitation was the simple fact, given the ongoing conflict within the tribe, that he did not yet know what was best to be done to preserve that legacy for the future.
“Uncle Long Canoe,” said Cherity one evening, her patience at last overflowing, “could we go up and look for what is hidden on your land—Seth and Chigua and I? I remember what you said, but we have two thirds of the map.”
A thin smile creased the lips of the wise old Cherokee.
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