“Unehlanahi scratched his head, trying to think of something he could tempt her with. He was starting to think that this woman was pretty stubborn and maybe the best thing for first man would be to just let her go. But then he got an idea for a new kind of fruit and made a whole field full of strawberries appear for first woman. Well, this was just too much for her to resist, since she had never seen a strawberry before and they looked so plump and red she just had to stop and try one. When she tasted one, they were just so delicious that she picked as many as she could carry. She forgot about wanting to be alone and what had made her mad. She turned around to find first man so he could taste the new fruit. It didn’t take her long before she met up with first man, and they both walked home, eating strawberries and happy to be together again.”
“So now you know, my friend,” said Jimmy as he puffed a cloud of tobacco smoke, “how strawberries came to be. And you can also understand why the Cherokee are a matriarchal society. Our women are so strong-willed the creator had to invent a new fruit to get one to change her mind!”
“I guess we should be thankful that they are,” said Adam. “I’d hate to think of a world without these delicious strawberries. And thanks for the great story, Rebecca. It was very entertaining, especially with your added interpretations. I think your story would appeal to the feminists in my time.”
They finished off the strawberries and talked more about farming and raising sheep, with Jimmy listing off a number of chores he hoped to get done tomorrow. Adam was pleased when he suggested turning in for the evening; he was feeling the aches and bruises from the earlier encounter with the sheep. He hoped a good night’s sleep would leave him feeling refreshed for helping with tomorrow’s chores. Rebecca provided him with a straw-filled mat for sleeping in a private corner of the house. Jimmy and Rebecca retired to the sleeping loft Jimmy had recently added for them and the new child.
As he lay on the sleeping mat, Adam thought about how open and trusting of him these people were. It was a stark contrast to the way he would expect to be treated by strangers in his own time. He wondered if the world had really become so much more evil over the years, making people wary of anyone they didn’t know. Or was it that the Cherokee people were simply overly trusting and naive? He fell asleep thinking that if the latter was true, the United States government was about to harshly punish them for it.
Adam woke to the sound of Jimmy and Rebecca’s laughter echoing through the farmhouse window. Apparently he had overslept, the sun already streaming brightly through the window. He slept soundly after the previous day’s exertion; he felt as if he had just closed his eyes. His muscles were still tender from wrestling with the sheep last evening, but he eased their aching with a few stretches. He dressed quickly and went outside, noting that the sun had already risen well above the horizon. He shielded his eyes from the shining sun and mumbled a good morning to Jimmy and Rebecca.
“Osda sunalei!” they answered as brightly as the sunlight.
“That means good morning,” said Jimmy. “Another phrase for your Cherokee vocabulary.”
“Mmphh, osda sun…” said Adam, still trying to wake up.
“Sun-ah-lay,” said Jimmy.
“Did we wake you? Good! We thought you would sleep all day!” Rebecca chided cheerfully. “Jimmy and I have already been to the water, and the morning is passing quickly. I set out some of Jimmy’s spare clothing for you,” she said, pointing to a neatly folded pile of clothes. “Jimmy can show you the path to the river where you can wash, and I will prepare us something to eat.”
“Thanks, er, I mean wado,” Adam said. He grabbed the clothes and followed Jimmy down the trail.
As they walked, Jimmy told Adam that they were fortunate to be on the river so they could come each morning if they chose. He explained that “going to water” was a Cherokee tradition that they found to be an exhilarating way to start the day, and that they tried to keep the tradition in all but the coldest part of the year. When they reached the riverbank, Jimmy showed Adam several places among the rocks that formed natural pools, and led him to one of their favorite spots, an isolated pool formed by a semi-circle of half a dozen boulders. The water was crystal clear, and Adam could see the sandy river bottom below through at least ten feet of water.
“There are some places where you can wade in slowly,” said Jimmy, “but on a warm day like today I like to just jump into one of these deep pools. I’ll leave you to your privacy and meet you back at the house. Just follow the trail back,” he said as he turned and headed up the path.
“Okay, great,” he said to himself as he started to undress. It wasn’t the first time he bathed in a river. He’d done so often while backpacking in wilderness areas. “I guess in the 1800’s pretty much all of Georgia is a wilderness area,” he chuckled to himself.
He stood on top of the boulder, picked a spot in one of the deep pools, and jumped.
He would have screamed the instant he hit the water if he had any breath in his lungs to do it with. The biting cold shock of the frigid river left him breathless. As he submerged, Adam figured the temperature of the gelid water was nearly thirty degrees colder than the air, something he now realized he should have considered before plunging headlong into the icy pool. He briskly stroked his long arms and kicked his feet, clawing his way upwards, gasping for breath as he broke the surface.
“Wow!” he gasped. “Brrr, did Jimmy call this exhilarating? I’ll say!”
He caught his breath and eventually adjusted to the temperature as he swam vigorously through the chilly water. Once he became used to the cold, he began to enjoy his swim, diving several times and then floating silently, taking in the serenity of the wooded stretch along the riverbank. He dove back under, discovering that the pool was deeper than it appeared. He grabbed some sand from the bottom and used it to rub the grime from his body, then swam some more. He was fully awake now and the cold water had erased any remaining muscle soreness. He climbed out of the water and lay naked on a sun-heated boulder, letting its warmth dry him before donning the fresh clothes.
Striding energetically back to the house, he could smell coffee brewing and breakfast cooking. At the table set up on the porch, Jimmy sat with a mug of steaming coffee, eating a huge plate of biscuits smothered in gravy.
“Now you look much livelier,” he said, motioning to Adam to sit down and pouring him a tin mug of coffee. “Did you enjoy the water?”
“Very much,” said Adam, “once I recovered from the shock. That’s some cold water!”
Jimmy shrugged. “You should feel it in February.” His words were muffled by a mouthful of biscuit.
Adam thought he would prefer not to. He helped himself to a plate of eggs and sausage, along with a couple of biscuits. The coffee was hot and strong, and between the caffeine and his cold dip in the river he was getting anxious to get started on the day’s chores.
He thanked Rebecca for the breakfast as he cleaned the last of the eggs from his plate, and rushed to join Jimmy who was already heading to the barn. Adam knew there was a full day of farm work planned. He was enjoying the vigorous lifestyle, the great food, and Jimmy and Rebecca’s company. He also was concerned about looming disaster yet to come, and the effect it would have on them. Adam wasn’t foolish enough to believe that helping with farm chores was going to make any difference to the outcome, but he would do his best to respect the Cherokee’s preference to deal with things as they arose rather than fretting about things that might never occur. In a way, he envied their attitude, wishing he could prevent his knowledge of the devastating removal from weighing heavily on his mind. As he ran to catch up to Jimmy, he wondered how his other friends were doing. He hoped they were being treated as well as he was.
Chapter thirty
Sal wasn’t about to give Yonah the satisfaction of knowing how much his leg muscles ached from the brutal hike. There wasn’t much he could do to hide his panting though. His lungs burned from the exertion and the thinning air of the high al
titude made it even more difficult to catch his breath. They had followed a series of trails for the last few hours, most of them ascending, without stopping for a break. The last mountain path Yonah had taken was a steep climb of about 600 feet in elevation gain in less than a half mile. They now stood on the top of a ridge.
“Still with me, Squirrel-man?” Yonah said, making no attempt to conceal his sneering tone. He was not winded in the least.
Sal struggled to breathe normally. “Right behind you, Tonto. It’ll take more than that little climb to lose me.”
“Losing you is not my intention,” Yonah replied. “I would only have to waste my time looking for you. I just have not heard your chattering for a while. We have much farther to go, so we will stop here for a few moments before going on. I have brought some supplies from the food Benjamin provided so we may also enjoy a small meal.” He removed a small bundle from a pouch he was carrying and handed Sal a strip of dried venison and a handful of gahawista—kernels of dried, parched corn.
Sal was exceedingly relieved they were taking a break, but he just shrugged and said, “Whatever, dude. You’re the chief.”
He sat on a convenient boulder and used his teeth to rip off a small piece of the tough meat. It took some chewing to get it soft enough, but he was finally able to swallow it. He popped a couple of the corn kernels into his mouth and began working on crunching them up. They were hard as pebbles, and had about as much taste.
“I thought you Indians hunted for your food,” Sal remarked as he crunched on the corn.
“We do. Although there is no longer enough game to live entirely by hunting anymore, now that so much of our land has been ceded to the white settlers.” Yonah knew that the game had been depleted from overhunting by both white and Indian hunters. He avoided elaborating on the subject to Sal, though. “The venison you are eating was hunted by Benjamin and his son. It has been dried to make it better to carry on a long journey, and the gahawista is excellent for travel.”
As he spoke, he reached into his pouch and retrieved another small bundle, which he nonchalantly unwrapped to reveal a fat ham sandwich. He made a show of relishing each bite he took.
“Hey, man!” said Sal, glaring. “How come you get the fresh sandwich and I get the hard gah-whatsit corn nuts and shoe leather?”
“It is gahawista,” he corrected. “And I have the sandwich because I am the one who thought to bring it.” Yonah answered matter-of-factly, smacking his lips as he ate the sandwich. “When we stop for the night we will eat again. Then you may get to see an Indian hunt, and if the spirits are obliging we will both have fresh meat.”
Sal grumbled under his breath, but pretended to enjoy the food as if it were the finest meal he ever had. He regretted his outburst, realizing that he had fallen for Yonah’s baiting. He washed down some of the crunchy, dry corn with some water. At least he had thought to grab one of the skins of water from Benjamin.
“Just how far are we going on this little walkabout?” Sal asked.
“The journey will last several days. By tonight we will reach the water and will use the river for travel for much of the rest of the way. The end of our journey will bring us within what you call the state of Alabama. That is, if you can make it.”
“Just lead the way, Tonto. That is, if you can find the river,” Sal retorted. Alabama! He hadn’t expected to travel so far. He kept his expression neutral, not allowing Yonah to see his shock. At least most of the trip would be by boat.
After the short break, they continued walking southward along the ridge. It was another warm, sun-filled day in May, and nothing worked better to mellow Sal out than a long hike on a beautiful day. His irritation at Yonah was soon replaced by the delight of the surroundings. The elevation gave them a spectacular view of the valley below and the next mountain range to the west. Yonah seemed content to travel in silence, which suited Sal just fine. In his own time, he would likely hear traffic noise or other sounds of civilization, even in this remote spot at this high altitude. Today, other than the occasional insect or animal noise, the only sounds were those made by their own footsteps.
Sal determined he was in the vicinity of Lookout Mountain, somewhere between Georgia and Alabama. Yonah moved forward with confidence, so he wasn’t too concerned about getting lost, and felt sure he could back-track his route if he had to. That thought gave him some comfort. The alternative was to admit he would be completely lost without Yonah.
They hadn’t traveled long before Yonah took a switchback path descending down the western slope, leading them to some relatively flat terrain. It was much warmer in the valley, and the blazing midday sun made Sal thankful he still had the straw hat from Benjamin. Even so, he was sweating profusely by the time they reached the first creek crossing. Swollen from the spring runoff, the creek was waist-deep. Sal was cooled by the chilly water, but the sun dried him quickly. With several creeks and small rivers to cross, he was never too hot or too wet for very long.
The warm sunshine and long stretches of trail also began to have an effect on Yonah, who abandoned his silent march and began to sing. Initially, it sounded like unintelligible chanting to Sal. As they walked, the rhythm of the Tsalagi song matched their stride and Yonah’s quavering voice became a hauntingly eerie melody as it echoed through the forest. It seemed to push them along, making the hike feel less strenuous. Anything that took his mind off of his aching legs was okay with Sal.
Before long they were ascending another mountain. This range was higher than the last, but mercifully the switchbacks of the trail made the ascent less grueling. It was still a strenuous climb, and at a point about halfway up the mountain they paused next to a pile of huge boulders, Yonah allowing them a moment to rest and take a drink of water. Grateful for the breather, Sal stepped up onto one of the boulders to take in the view.
“Si! Wait!” Yonah cried urgently.
Sal heard the agitated rattling at the same instant. He looked down to see a sunbathing rattlesnake coiled on the boulder not more than four feet from his boot. He froze, mesmerized by the spiraling patterns of the snake’s markings as it coiled. Its tail was erect, vibrating urgently and demanding attention.
“Don’t…” Yonah began.
“Shhh!” Sal whispered firmly, still frozen, keeping his eye on the snake and trying to judge its size and distance from him. Keeping his body stiff, he cautiously backed away from the snake, as slowly and as far as he could until he reached the edge of the boulder. He then gingerly stepped off of the rock. As he did, the snake swiftly uncoiled and shot off in the opposite direction.
Yonah sighed in relief. “Let’s not meet each other again this summer, Utsanati,” he spoke in the direction of the retreating snake. “Well done,” he said sincerely to Sal. “I am surprised you did not panic or try to kill it.”
“Hey, dude, I’ll admit my heart rate went up a bit, but I was pretty sure that I was outside of his striking range. Most of the time and given a chance, a snake will prefer to retreat rather than strike a human. Kill it? Why the heck would I do that? These are his digs; I’m just passing through.”
Yonah looked at Sal with a raised eyebrow and grunted. He pondered the possibility that this worthless yonega may have some merit after all. A very remote possibility, he thought, and he was not about to give Sal any indication of further approval beyond his “well done” remark. He would, however, reward the respect Sal had shown for the rattlesnake by sharing a story with him.
“You may not know this, Squirrel-man,” Yonah began, “but Utsanati, the rattlesnake, holds a position of high regard with the Cherokee. It is said that the killing of a rattlesnake will bring about the death of the killer, at least if it is done without proper preparations. That belief began with the story from long ago, back when the animals could speak to men. I will share this story with you.
“It seems that a man was out hunting and came across a clan of rattlesnakes who were all making a terrible wailing sound. When the hunter asked them what the trouble wa
s, they told him that his wife had just today attacked and killed their chief, believing him to be dangerous to her children. They told him that they were planning to send another snake to take revenge, and he must help them by sending his wife out for water, where she could be bitten. If he did not do this, they would just kill him here and now.
“The hunter told the snakes he was sorry that their chief had been killed, and although he did not want to lose his wife, he knew that what they were asking was just. He agreed to return to his home and send his wife outside so the snake could take his revenge.
“He did what they asked, and in return the snake promised not to bite any men unless they were threatened, and taught him a song that could be sung over a person who had been bitten to help cure him.”
“Man, that’s like a pretty hefty fee,” Sal said, “just for killing a snake. Anyhow I’m pleased as punch you don’t have to sing any songs over me. I think the bite would be painful enough, Tonto, without having to listen to more of your caterwauling. But I agree that creatures oughta be treated with respect, especially the ones with poisonous fangs, dude.”
Yonah nodded, mentally giving Sal credit for the remark, and showing only a slight suggestion of a smile at the criticism of his singing voice. “If you are bitten you had better hope I remember the words.”
They continued their trek up the mountain path, being a little more vigilant about where they stepped, Yonah not wanting to insult Utsanati after promising not to see him again, and Sal not wanting to get bitten. They were on the east side of the mountain range and the shadows grew long as the sun descended below the mountaintop. When they crested the peak they were once again in full sunlight, while the valley below was bathed in the early evening’s orange glow.
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