Adam, Alice, Sal, and Tom exchanged glances in wordless astonishment. It was abundantly clear that there would not be any clarification coming from Benjamin. They heard the conversation; there was no need to further question the man. He would only confirm John Carter’s story. Whether they were willing to believe it or not, both of these men were convinced it was May, 1838. The team had little choice other than to accept the possibility that this was real. These folks were preparing for one of the most horrific and shameful events in the history of the United States, the Georgia Indian Removal. And the team was going to have to live through it with them.
Chapter thirteen
Catherine Rogers stood on the wrap-around porch of the farmhouse, watching them approach. She was dressed in a sturdy cotton frock, practical and homespun, protected by a white apron which was decorated with a rainbow of stains. Her long, straight black hair hung nearly to her waist, framing her broad smile, the most arresting feature of her round, sanguine face.
The farmhouse was constructed of whole logs, notched and interlocked at the corners, log cabin style, with a roof put together from bark shingles and covered in so much moss it looked like sod. The house was no cabin; it was an expansive, well-made structure, a homestead befitting a successful and profitable farm. The wide porch encircled the entire house, complete with rocking chairs and benches adorning the front of the house. Along the sides were various agricultural apparatus, all well used and most were clearly homemade. Next to Catherine were a few more wooden chairs, a table with a washbasin, water bucket, and ladle, and two large wooden barrels. Four steps led up to the porch. Next to the steps was another barrel, this one open and full to the top with rainwater.
“Need to set a few more places at the table, Silvey,” Catherine yelled through the open door to the kitchen. A woman’s black face momentarily appeared in the doorway and gave the visitors an indifferent glance, mumbled something inaudible and then disappeared back into the kitchen.
“You are all just in time,” Catherine beamed at the group, as if five strangers showing up for a meal was a common occurrence. “’Siyo, John Carter. I see you have brought us a few strong backs to help during the planting moon.”
“Catherine, osiyo.” said John Carter, returning the smile. “They will no doubt help with the chores, but I am afraid first they will need thirsts quenched, stomachs filled, and spirits mended.”
“Hungry, weary, and disheartened, eh? Sounds no different than most of the creatures who visit our farm these days,” she replied. Her smile did not falter. “No matter; you are all welcome here to mend your souls and fill your bellies.”
“Catherine,” Benjamin said, “John tells me these folks are from the future and are traveling with him to New Echota. We do not get many visitors from the future, so I am hoping they can tell us some new and interesting stories.” He smiled and winked at John.
“You have little time for listening to storytelling, Benjamin Rogers, with the planting time upon us,” Catherine replied. She was still smiling, but her dark brown eyes revealed enough sternness to convey a serious message to Benjamin, who looked slightly cowed. He made no reply.
John introduced the team to Catherine. Her stern look vanished and her ubiquitous smile radiated to each of them.
“We’re very grateful for your hospitality, Mrs. Rogers,” said Adam. “It’s been an extremely strange and trying day for us, to say the least. We started out this morning on a very short trip and wound up, well, somewhere we never expected to be. I guess that’s what John meant by our spirits needing to be mended.”
“It is not so unusual to not know where you are going until you get there,” said Catherine. “The trick is to know how to make the most of what you find. Please help yourselves to some cool water and come inside to have something to eat.”
While they passed around ladles full of water, Benjamin filled the wash basin with water from the rain barrel. He set it back on the table and washed his face and hands using a large cake of soap and drying with a towel hanging over the back of one of the chairs, then followed Catherine into the kitchen. John also washed, using the same basin of water, dried his face, and gestured with an open hand at the wash basin to Adam before turning and following Benjamin into the house.
Adam turned to his three colleagues and said, “What should we do?”
“You’re asking us?” Tom retorted. “You are in charge of this project. What are your orders?”
“Hold on, Tom.” Adam held out his hands, palms up, in a gesture of surrender. “I’m just as frustrated as you are. This situation has gone way beyond a testing project. Way beyond anything I could even imagine. I accept the responsibility of putting us in this situation, but I freely admit all of this is more than I can deal with alone. I need help from all of you.”
“Jeez, dude,” said Sal. “I was really hoping you were going to tell us this was some kind of elaborate gag you were pulling on us.”
Adam shook his head. “Hardly. If it’s a gag, it stopped being funny long ago.”
Tom continued to glare at Adam. It was extremely unsettling for him to be in a situation he did not understand, and he wanted someone to blame for it.
Alice sensed the standoff. She was also frustrated, but now was not the time for conflict. It would take logic and cool-headed thinking to solve this dilemma. “My goodness, fellas, arguing about what we should do isn’t going to help anything. Adam’s right, we all have to work together to figure this out. Tom, you are one of the most capable engineers I know. We need your support.”
Tom shot her a look of bewilderment. “My support? What do you expect me to do, invent a time-machine to get us home?”
“Of course not. I’m not suggesting anything of the kind. What I am suggesting is that you put that brilliant mind of yours to good use. Listen, you’ve had to think outside the box on occasion, to come up with a solution to an engineering problem no one else thought of. Why not do that now?”
“Just what are you proposing?”
“Use the facts at hand. Here we are with two men who believe this is 1838. Something has happened to change the terrain—things aren’t where they are supposed to be. I know it’s farfetched, but why don’t we assume, for the moment, that time-travel is a possibility. At least until we can prove otherwise.”
Tom shook his head. “I can’t understand the benefit in doing that.”
“I can,” said Adam. “Alice is suggesting we look at this scientifically. We accept the facts as offered unless we can prove them to be false. By doing so, we may be able to find unique solutions to our unique problem.”
“I’m not sure I completely agree with your approach, but I understand the logic.” Tom paused, considering their suggestion. “I will attempt to put aside my suspicions of deception and only deal with facts as they are presented. Skeptically, mind you.”
Adam looked relieved. “Skeptically, agreed. In that case, let us accept these kind folks hospitality and get something to eat.”
“Now there’s something I can agree with,” said Sal. “We shall follow your lead, my leader.
Adam copied the wash up procedure of the two men, finding the cool, soapy water a welcome relief, leaving behind a basin full of grey, sudsy water with a substantial amount of trail dust sediment at the bottom. He slung the towel over his forearm with a flourish, extended it to Alice, bowed slightly, and said, “Next!”
Alice grimaced at the filthy water in the washbasin and flashed Adam an expression of disgust. Adam simply smiled and shrugged, continuing to hold out his arm with the towel draped over it like the washroom attendant in a five-star hotel.
Tom sensed her reluctance and impatiently sidestepped between them. He grabbed the washbasin, and flung the contents over the edge of the porch. He then refilled it from the rain barrel and set it back on the table. “There’s plenty of rain water in the barrel. Just get some more when you need it. Doesn’t take much out of the box thinking to figure that out,” he said matter-of-factly, gi
ving Alice a good-natured wink.
Alice took the damp towel from Adam, who bowed again, turned, and entered the farmhouse. She splashed the chilly water on her face, delighting in the soft, almost silky feel of the hard rainwater. She lathered up with the bar of soap, which appeared to be homemade and harsh, but did an exemplary job of removing the trail grime. She felt more refreshed than she had since morning, and wished she had time to wash out her tangled and gritty hair. She decided a quick wash-up was good enough for now, as the mouthwatering aroma wafting through the door was doing a splendid job of reminding her how long it had been since she’d eaten. She handed the towel to Tom who did a quick wash and dry. He turned, flung the towel onto Sal’s shoulder, and then moved aside. Sal grabbed the basin and replaced the water with fresh from the rain barrel, causing Tom and Alice to give him a sideways glance and a snort.
“What?” said Sal as he washed, “It had girl cooties in it.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake,” said Alice. “You act like a third-grader. If I were you, I’d be more worried about the cooties on some of those skanks I’ve seen you with.”
Shaking his head and laughing loudly, Tom said, “Come on, guys, let’s eat!”
The farmhouse kitchen had a huge, sturdy, rectangular table set in the center of the room. One entire wall of the kitchen was a stone cooking hearth, with half a dozen pots of various sizes hanging from iron hooks, and on two stone shelves built into the hearth were several more pans and cooking utensils. The hearth was level with the kitchen floor, which was made from flat stones and warmed by the fire. A low, three-legged stool stood next to the hearth. There was a single large cupboard on an adjacent wall which held a few mixing bowls, pitchers, and another bucket of water. A few more shelves affixed to the walls held an assortment of tins, plates, and a number of other kitchen tools. A churn stood in one corner, next to a small bench and several straw brooms leaned against the wall.
The table was laden with enough food to feed twice the number of people who were seated around it on the wooden benches. In addition to Benjamin, Catherine, and the five travelers, a young boy and girl were seated at the table. The black woman was busily shuffling plates, bowls, and platters of food.
Alice inspected the selection of food that had been prepared for them, which to her looked like a tremendous assortment of leftovers from several meals. There were two large platters of roasted meat. A partially carved haunch of dark, stringy meat—deer meat she assumed— was making its way around the table. On the second platter was a mixture of smaller pieces of light brown meat with chunks of yellow potatoes. She could see a platter of fried trout, and another with fried eggs. There were also at least six bowls containing vegetables, soups and stews, and one enormous basket full of cornbread.
She started with the meat and potato platter, and passed it along to Sal sitting next to her. She picked up a bowl of scrambled eggs mixed with green onions, and took a large helping before passing it on. She was passed two more bowls, one with hominy and bacon and another with fat, greasy-looking green beans, took a spoonful from each, and then grabbed a large piece of cornbread from the basket. She hefted the heavy pitcher of milk and poured some for herself into a tin cup. The milk was slightly cool, not ice cold the way she liked it. It tasted sweet, thick, and rich like drinking melted ice cream. She tried a few bites of the meat and potato main dish.
“My goodness this is delicious,” she said to Catherine, indicating the meat and vegetable mixture. “The vegetables taste like yams, and the meat is tender and flavorful. Is it pork?”
“I am pleased you like it, Alice,” said Catherine. “No, it is not pork. It is gv-li and yams.”
Alice nodded as she took another mouthful. “Guh-tlee… what kind of meat is that?”
“Raccoon and yams,” said John, “one of Catherine’s specialties.”
“Raccoon?” she said, pausing her eating and looking doubtfully at the remainder of the meat. “Oh, my. Dear me, uh…”
“What’s wrong, Alice?” said Sal, greatly amused at her discomposure. “’Coon got your tongue?” he snickered.
“Actually, it is very delicious,” said Adam, coming to Alice’s rescue and taking a second helping. It’s something new for us to try.”
“Something new for sure, man. Can’t say I’ve ever had raccoon before,” said Sal.
“You never had gv-li and yams before?” said the young boy sitting across from Sal. It was inconceivable to him that someone had never had the meal before. “Did you just hatch from an egg?” he said, giggling along with the little girl sitting next to him.
“Billy,” said Catherine with a stern look at the boy. “Please remember how to speak to guests,” she said. The youngster stopped giggling and hastily lowered his eyes. Catherine looked embarrassingly at Benjamin, and Billy knew he would be reminded of his impertinence privately later. It was not customary for a Cherokee parent to admonish a child in front of others. “Please excuse my ill-mannered children, Billy and Sally,” she said, introducing them to the group.
“Oh, I think Billy has a point,” said Alice. “Sometimes I think Sal was just hatched from an egg, too,” she said, wrinkling her nose at Sally, making her giggle again.
The Rogers family members projected the warm and hospitable atmosphere of a loving family to their guests, an atmosphere that felt natural and sincere. The conversation grew lighthearted as the group became comfortable with each other, and the delicious food and cheery talk helped relieve the team’s anxiety, at least for the moment. Adam commented to Benjamin that he admired the well-built and sturdy construction of the house and asked him if they had lived in it very long.
“This farmhouse is only about fifty years old, and was built by Catherine’s father with the help of some of his clan,” Benjamin answered. “John Carter’s father also helped. Our families have had close ties for many years, and I have known John all my life. The land of the farm was owned in common by the Cherokee nation, but has been farmed by my mother’s family, her clan, for generations. Catherine is Anitsisqua, or Bird clan, as is John Carter.”
“How many Cherokee clans are there?” asked Adam.
“There are seven; Paint, Wild Potato, Wolf, Deer, Bird, Blue, and Longhair. Children become members of their mother’s clan, so Billy and Sally are also Bird clan. People of the same clan cannot marry, because they are like brothers and sisters. John is Catherine’s clan brother, and uncle to my children.”
“Do the clan names have any significance?” asked Adam.
“Yes,” said Benjamin. “Historically, the names of the clans reflected the special skills of the members. My clan, Deer, for example, was known for being especially fast runners and good hunters. As a child, I was a very fast runner,” he said humbly. The Wolf clan is the largest clan, and they have produced many chiefs and strong warriors.”
“No doubt that would be my clan,” said Sal.
“Oh, really. He said they were warriors, not inferiors,” Alice chuckled.
“You’re so funny you must be from the Clown clan,” he smirked.
Tom, who had more agricultural knowledge than the others, asked Benjamin about the operation of the farm, and the sort of crops and livestock they raised. Benjamin explained that they were very proud to have one of the most successful farms in the valley, and while it was not the largest, they had been doing quite well for the last several years. He told them that in addition to growing peaches and cotton, their main crops, they also grew corn, beans, and a variety of other vegetables for their own table. He also had a small patch of fine Georgia tobacco, as nearly every farm did. They raised a few horses, and had a small flock of sheep, a few hogs, and a couple of dairy cows.
Tom remarked that it must be a lot of hard work for their small family. He asked if the black lady and man they had seen along the way were hired hands.
“We are fortunate enough to own Isaac and Silvey, our two slaves,” Benjamin answered.
“Slaves?” Tom exclaimed. There was a look of sh
ock on all four of the team’s faces.
“Yes,” answered Benjamin. “I see you are surprised that we have done so well to be able to afford such a luxury. But as you say, this farm would require much more labor than we ourselves could provide. Harvesting the cotton is an especially heavy workload. In the past, we have borrowed additional slaves from neighboring farms at harvest time, but the owners of many of the larger, more affluent farms have been leaving to move west. Joe Vann, who had one of the largest farms in the area, abandoned his plantation and moved to the western territory several years ago. A few others who could afford it followed, but most of the ‘regular’ folks are still here.”
John Carter licked a dribble of grease from his fingers. “If the Georgians have their way none of us will be here for this year’s harvest.”
Benjamin grunted. “After all our people have done to take on the white ways and become a thriving community, I don’t see how they will be allowed to make us leave.”
“You know the greed that comes from the gold. They have already made laws to forbid any Cherokee from digging for gold on his own land, and have conducted a land lottery giving others title to all of our land. The fields you are planting now may be harvested by a white family after you have been driven away.”
“What would you have me do, John Carter?” Benjamin said testily. “Squat on my heels until they come? Or pack up and go to Indian Territory and beg a settlement from the Ridge group?”
“I do understand the predicament, Benjamin Rogers, but it may be prudent for you to spend part of your time gathering the possessions you would take with you if you are forced to go.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know a lot about farms,” said Alice, “especially a nineteenth century one, but this place and your family seem to be pretty typical of what I would imagine one to be like. No different than any farm family of this period, and probably very similar to my own ancestors. If the land has been yours for generations, what right does anyone have to make you leave it?”
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