Timecachers

by Glenn R. Petrucci

  Tom added, “There was also another treaty, called the Treaty of New Echota. This is the treaty they are contending with now, which John referred to as illegal. The Treaty of New Echota gave up all the last remaining lands of the Cherokee and agreed to move them west to Indian Territory, nearly 1000 miles away, in what is now Oklahoma. That treaty was signed by only a small group of Cherokee leaders who felt that the only option left for them was to give in and go west. Most of the Cherokee did not agree, and wanted to keep their ancestral lands. This led to some of the events John was talking about—many futile attempts to nullify that treaty.”

  “So where do we fit in?” asked Alice. “If anything, what you’ve said only goes to prove Sal’s point. There is very little we can do to help prevent this from happening.”

  “Maybe the goal isn’t to prevent it,” said Adam. “In a few weeks, Georgia will begin to forcefully gather up the Cherokee people, remove them from their homes and herd them into forts, where they will wait to be marched to Indian Territory. Right up to the end, many of the Cherokee families refused to believe that they would be forced from their homes. Maybe the best way we can help would be to simply become part of their daily lives.”

  “That could be very dangerous,” said Tom. “The Georgia militia is not going to look very kindly on anyone consorting with the Cherokee. Our intentions could also be misinterpreted by the Cherokee if it appears we are encouraging them to leave. I bet they’ve just about had their fill of white people encouraging them to pack up and leave, and sick of hearing that it’s their only option. Imagine how you would feel.”

  Alice was not one to ignore the mistreatment of anyone. “We’ll have to tread carefully, but of course we have to help. We have the dubious advantage of knowing what’s going to happen, but they don’t. It will take patience and tact,” she said, with a sideways glance at Sal. “My gosh, if I can do anything to help avoid some of the Cherokee suffering, I’m going to do it. And the militia can just watch out for me.”

  “Yeah,” said Sal. “Those Georgia boys haven’t seen anything until they’ve tangled with a dude from Jersey.”

  “Easy, guys,” said Adam. “Remember, we’re talking about trained Georgia militia, not a bunch of coeds from Georgia State. Plus, the Georgians feel they are entitled to the land, and have been waiting many years for the feds to fulfill the promises they have made. The state has already conducted a lottery and awarded land to some of them. They believe the law is on their side, and that the Cherokee should abide by the Treaty of New Echota, signed by their representatives. Georgia is just following the example set by what others have done in the past. You know all those places in New Jersey that have Native American names?”

  “Sure, man,” said Sal. “They got those names from the Indians that used to live there.”

  “Well what do you think happened to the Indians? There are a few small communities, but most were pushed out, either forcefully or their land was purchased for next to nothing. Back in the 1600’s, the idea of land ownership was something most of the Indians had no concept of, and the European settlers didn’t hesitate to take advantage of them.”

  “So,” Tom said, “If I may get back to the point, now that we’ve refreshed our memories about the history of this event, our plan is to do what we can to help those who will let us. Help them how, exactly? Encourage them to give up everything they own, be held in a military stockade, and then force marched over 800 miles? Anyone else think they might not consider that helpful?”

  “No, that’s not the sort of help I had in mind. We might just let them tell us how best to help. You know, with the day to day stuff for a while. Once we understand their situation and needs a little better, we could possibly save lives and help make this tragedy less painful for a few of them. Getting involved in their hard lives will be challenging, and certainly dangerous undertaking,” said Adam, “but it could be the most important thing any of us has ever done. Are you guys up for it?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Of course we’ll try,” said Tom. “But I’ve got a troublesome feeling we’re going to need more help from these folks than we’re going to be able to give them.”

  Chapter sixteen

  That evening Benjamin and Billy showed the team around the stables. The Rogers had about a dozen horses, and each evening they were brought into the stables for the night and groomed. The grooming chore was usually delegated to Billy and Sally, who were thrilled to have the team help them out. Alice found that she enjoyed grooming the animals; it calmed and relaxed her, and the horses certainly seemed to enjoy it. She never considered herself an animal person, but she never had spent much time around horses before.

  Benjamin explained that most of the horses were for riding, but they also had a team used for plowing. He told them that in his father’s time they used oxen to plow. In those days they used wooden plows that required strong, robust animals to break through the rocky Georgia soil. Nowadays he used cast iron plows, which cut the ground better and were easy enough for horses to pull.

  By the time they were finished with the horses it was nearly dark. They headed back to the farmhouse, and Benjamin told them he’d like the three men to help him finish up the planting tomorrow, and that Catherine could use Alice’s help with some of her chores. Noting Alice’s look of disappointment at being assigned as a domestic, Benjamin explained that Catherine usually performed double-duty, both the household chores and helping in the fields afterwards, so she needed help even more than he did.

  Catherine had prepared sleeping arrangements for them all. The farmhouse had three bedrooms. Catherine, Sally and Alice would stay in the main bedroom and the five men would share the children’s rooms.

  They were gathered in the farmhouse living room. Catherine explained to the group that it was customary in their family to tell a story in the evening before bedtime, and asked if they would like to participate. She said that tonight it was her turn to tell the story of how the world was created. Afterward, if they wished, one of their guests could share a story with them.

  She began by saying that at one time, everything in this world was covered with water. But there were two other worlds, one above and one below the water. The one above was the sky-vault, made of rock, where all the creatures on this earth once lived. Below the water was another world where the seasons were backwards and everything was chaotic. Because so many creatures lived on the sky-vault above the water, it became crowded, so the creatures sent Dayunisi, a water beetle, down to the water to see if there was any place down there to live. He dove under the water, and was down a long time, but he finally came up with some mud. He spread the mud around so it could form land, but it took a long time to dry. The animals were anxious, so they sent some bird out to keep checking on the mud to see if it was dry enough yet for them to use. They finally sent the Great Buzzard who flew all around checking the mud to make sure it was dry. In the places where the mud was still soft, the Great Buzzard’s wings hit the ground and that is what formed the mountains and valleys in Georgia that the Cherokee call home and love so much.

  When Catherine asked the visitors if they had a story they wanted to share, Adam offered to tell them a different story of creation, of Adam and Eve, but the two children said they had heard that story many times in school. They liked that story, and didn’t mind hearing it again, but didn’t they know a new story, being from the future and all?

  Alice said that she knew a story that they probably hadn’t heard before. It was sort of a silly story, one that her father used to tell her. She heard it so often that she thought she could remember it still. It was a story about a beaver, she said, and it was called Basil, The Builder Beaver. Sal just rolled his eyes, but the Rogers family all said they would like to hear a story about a beaver. She began:

  By the banks of the Pinchynose, if one cared to look,

  Lived a beaver named Basil, who made his home in that brook.

  For in the Pinchynose River, right out in the f
low,

  Basil, the builder beaver had built his chateau.

  It was made with great logs, piled high and real sturdy,

  But even better than that-- it looked kind of purdy!

  That’s how he had earned the last name of builder,

  For the house he had built was a thing to bewilder.

  One day he was making some repairs to the house,

  When next to the shore he spied Milton the mouse.

  “Hello there,” said Milton, as Basil tapped on his wall,

  Can I come for a visit?

  I won’t take much room, I’m really quite small.

  “Why, sure,” answered Basil, without stopping his work,

  He bade him come on, and gave him a shirk.

  Milton jumped at the offer, and ran in the house,

  “You’ll like me a lot, and I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.

  It wasn’t long after, Basil noticed a squirrel,

  Who stood on the bank, crying, “Hi, there, I’m Earl.

  “That place you have built seems a great place to live,

  “I just hope it doesn’t leak like a sieve.”

  The squirrel that was Earl dashed straight in the house,

  Not even asking, like Milton the mouse.

  Basil just shrugged, he was way too busy,

  To let one little squirrel put him into a tizzy.

  In less than an hour, along came Will Weasel,

  Who ploughed through the door like he was running on diesel.

  “I like having company,” the builder beaver said.

  “Make yourselves right at home, just stay out of my bed.”

  At first, the Rogers looked bewildered by Alice’s story, never having heard anything quite like it. She continued the tale of more and more animals coming to live in Basil the Beaver’s home. She told the story animatedly, using a different voice for each animal, and soon both children were laughing every time she mentioned Milton the Mouse or Earl the Squirrel. By the time she got to Fonzie the Fox, Catherine, Benjamin, and even Adam, Tom, and Sal where laughing as hysterically as the children.

  Alice’s voice became somber as she described Basil’s growing anxiety from the overload of freeloaders taking up residency in his house:

  There were so many critters, and so much room they were taking,

  All the walls started bulging, and creaking, and shaking!

  No one seemed to notice, when poor Basil did say,

  “I could use a little help,” but they all answered, “No way!”

  Basil kept right on working, dragging trees from the land,

  But he was starting to think things were getting out of hand.

  The faster he worked, the more shaky things got,

  With so many creatures, his home was going to pot.

  Her expression turned even more intense and her voice became grave as Basil’s house began to collapse. She narrated the story perfectly; everyone was on the edge of their seat when it looked as if all the animals might drown:

  When all of a sudden, and as quick as a flash,

  Basil’s home flew apart, with a great watery splash.

  All the creatures went tumbling, every one of them wet,

  And Basil was tempted to say, “That’s what you get!”

  Finally she came to the part where the animals learned their lesson and offered to help Basil rebuild:

  They gathered ‘round Basil to say they were sorry,

  But Basil just smiled and said, “Hey, not to worry.”

  “I’ll build me another, it’s what I do best,

  Then you can visit in pairs, and leave out the rest!”

  They offered to help him rebuild his abode,

  But he told them, “No, thank you” ‘cause he already knowed

  He’d teach them to build using wood, dirt, and stone,

  So that they could all have a place of their own.

  Everyone cheered and clapped, relieved that the beaver was okay and the squatters got what they deserved. They were impressed that Basil would now set limits on his visitors, yet be gracious enough to teach them how to build their own houses. They all clapped again at the end and thanked Alice for telling such a wonderful story.

  “Good job,” Adam whispered to her. “Was that Dr. Seuss?”

  “No, I’m sure it was just something my dad made up,” she said. “He was good at making up stories and I always enjoyed it when he told them to me.”

  Benjamin thanked her again for the great story. He suggested that they should all be getting to bed, as the day would start early tomorrow, before sunrise, and they should get plenty of rest while they could.

  Chapter seventeen

  In the morning, Alice, who so far was going along with the role of a nineteenth century female, was wakened by the other women earlier than the men to help with the preparation of breakfast. Her storytelling from the previous night had elevated her to the clear favorite of the visitors, and all through breakfast Sally and Billy performed impressions of Basil the Beaver and the other animals. After the men headed off to the fields, Alice and Sally continued the impersonations as they did kitchen chores, to the amusement of both Catherine and Silvey.

  The morning dew on the ankle-high grass soaked their pant legs as the men cut across the fields. Benjamin teamed Adam and Sal with Isaac and Billy, instructing them to go to the fields and continue the corn planting. He explained that although corn wasn’t one of his major crops, he planted twenty acres of it for livestock feed. He asked Tom to come with him to the barn to help with a few chores.

  Tom gaped at the cavernous barn as the huge doors creaked open. During this time of year the barn stood mostly empty. Benjamin assured him it would be filled to capacity at harvest time, when piles of cotton bales would occupy every empty corner, waiting to be transported to market. The attached silos, he said, would be filled with the corn from the field that Isaac and the others were planting.

  One section of the barn was loaded with farm equipment. Tom recognized most of the farm implements, antique versions of machines that had long since been automated. The bulk of the space was taken up by equipment used for processing cotton. A smaller, separate section of the barn was allocated to the peach crop. Benjamin explained that while it was more costly and a lot more work to have both cotton and peaches, he believed that it gave his family some insurance against having a particularly bad year with a single crop. He said that at the time he made that decision, slave labor was much easier to come by, and mentioned the Vann Plantation at one time had over 100 slaves. This year he wasn’t sure how they would handle the harvest. “Rich Joe” Vann had been forced out of his house three years ago when Georgia held the land lottery, and many of the other more prosperous farms had gone the same route, heading west to get a jump on claiming land there.

  Tom hesitated to tell Benjamin that he wasn’t going to have to worry about a harvest this year. History taught him that by fall, there would be no Cherokees left in Georgia. The crops would be harvested, but not by the Roger family. He wished he could tell Benjamin to forget about the crop and put his efforts into preparing to move his family to the western territory, but he knew he would sound like another white person trying to convince him to leave. Another white man telling him his situation was hopeless and his only choice was to pack up and leave. No; better to help with the farm chores and keep his suggestions to himself for now. He didn’t think Benjamin would listen to him anyway.

  “I can read your thoughts in your eyes, Tom Woody,” said Benjamin as he continued to show him around the barn. “You believe it is foolishness to continue with planting if we are to be run off our land.”

  “It’s not that I think it’s foolish, Benjamin. I can understand your strong feelings for wanting to continue to work your farm as long as you can. I’ve known families who continued to work their farms even though they were facing inevitable foreclosure because they were not able to make mortgage payments. They continued to hope they could find a way to make it wo
rk. It’s just that I know what’s going to happen. Your future is my history, and I would like to be able to give you the benefit of the things I know will happen.”

  Benjamin considered this for a moment. “I believe that you only know of one possible future. It is my opinion that there are endless possibilities, so it would be wrong for me to adjust my actions to fit only your version of the future.”

  “But if I know something bad is going to happen, wouldn’t it be unwise not to take precautions to prevent it?”

  “That would imply that there can only be one possible future, wouldn’t it? Suppose you knew that that wooden beam,” Benjamin said, pointing to one of the barn supports overhead, “was going to fall on my head and kill me. If you warned me and I avoided the falling beam and was not killed, then your version of the future would no longer be true.”

  “That’s what we call a time paradox. The classic example being that if you traveled back in time and murdered yourself as a baby, you would have never existed, and therefore could not have traveled back to murder yourself in the first place.”

  “Which supports my opinion that there is more than one possible future,” Benjamin said, convinced his logic was flawless.

  Tom was amazed that Benjamin had grasped the concept so easily. “That’s pretty clever thinking for a farmer, Benjamin,” he said with a grin.

  “Just logical. But logic also tells me that I must also prepare for your version of the future. Perhaps I will have my family begin to prepare some items in case we have to move. It will be difficult to find the time, with all the other chores this time of year. We will not be able to pack the things we need for everyday use, but there are some things we could set aside.”

  “Just keep in mind, sir,” Tom warned, “if it is my version of the future that is played out, you won’t be given an opportunity to take much with you.”