Timecachers

by Glenn R. Petrucci

  “We can take a more direct route home,” said Guwaya. “It is only necessary to take such a circuitous route when we are carrying supplies, to avoid explanations if someone were to see us. With the horses unburdened we can ride most of the way, and get home quickly.”

  Indeed, it was only about an hour before Tom began to recognize the landmarks that they had passed when they first left the cabin. It was good timing, Tom thought, since it was beginning to get dark. They bypassed the narrow, steep trails that they had followed before, but there were still several places that Tom thought would be a little too treacherous in the dark. He was also getting hungry and looking forward to another of Woyi’s superb home-cooked meals.

  Chapter thirty-five

  Tom had plenty of opportunity to partake of Woyi’s cooking over the next several days. He grew fond of the time spent with this close-knit family, and even began to enjoy the long, laborious days working side-by-side with Guwaya. Although many of their ways were foreign to him, within only a few days he began to understand the practicality of their traditions, and he began to notice similarities to his own family’s customs. Observing the Ward’s lifestyle helped him to understand how some of those traditions may have developed.

  He especially enjoyed his time with little Sagi. The energy of the two-year old was boundless, and reminded him of his younger siblings when he was a child.

  It had been nearly two weeks since John Carter brought Tom to the Ward farm. Most of his time had been spent working the farm, although he and Guwaya made two more treks to bring supplies to the cavern.

  They were returning from the third trip, Tom anticipating another of Woyi‘s mouthwatering meals, when she suddenly appeared on the trail in front of them. Woyi ran toward them, usdi on her back and holding Sagi’s hand, nearly dragging the boy along behind her.

  “Wait, Guwaya!” she cried as she got closer.

  Guwaya quickly dismounted and ran to his wife. “What is wrong? Why are you all the way out here?”

  Woyi was wide-eyed and out-of-breath. “The men!” she said urgently. “They came to the house—they just came in. They took Ahni!”

  “Who?” Guwaya’s voice was fierce. “Who took my mother? Who were these men?”

  Tom shuddered; the roundup of Cherokee families was beginning. So much for the theory that things might be different on this timeline, he thought. He said nothing, giving Guwaya a moment to reach the same conclusion. Tom lifted Sagi to his hip, comforting the young child who was sensing his parent’s distress.

  “It was the Georgia militia,” Woyi said. Her voice quavered as she relayed the encounter. “I was out in the field with the children when they came, but when I saw them, I ran to the house. Ahni was watching for me and motioned for me to stay hidden. She pretended that she couldn’t understand any English, so they had to bring in one of the men who spoke some Tsalagi. We hid close enough to hear what they were saying. He told Ahni that they came to take us all to the fort, where we must wait until they send us to the west.

  “Ahni told them that we had already left for the western territory, like the story you planned, but they didn’t believe her. They said we didn’t go because all the animals were still here. She told them that that was why she was still here, to care for the animals and sell them, and send you the money. She told them you told her she was too old to go to the west, so you left her behind with the animals.

  “The men seemed to believe her then. They laughed and said it was just like an Indian to run off and leave his old mother behind with the animals.”

  Guwaya bristled at that. He would never leave his mother behind, but he knew Ahni was clever to make up a story they would believe so Woyi and the children could escape.

  Woyi went on. “They told her she would have to come with them. They would take her to a place where she would wait for removal to the west. Ahni protested; she told them she had to stay and take care of the animals or they would starve, but they told her to forget about the animals. They said they would belong to some other family now, a white family, and she had no choice but to come with them at once.”

  “Do you know where they took her,” he asked. “How long ago did this happen?”

  “It was about an hour ago, and I heard them say they were taking her to Fort Cummings. But I also heard the man in charge tell a couple of men to search the surrounding area in case we were really still there. I did not go back in the house; I ran here to warn you.”

  Guwaya nodded firmly. “That was the right thing to do.” His hand rubbed the back of his neck as he considered what they should do next. “I must rescue Ahni, and there are still some things we could use at the house. I will go there first and try to sneak inside. You and Tom take the children and horses and go to the cave.”

  “Hold on, Guwaya,” said Tom, placing a restraining hand on Guwaya’s rock-hard shoulder. “Let me go to check out the cabin. You should stay with your family. Let me know what you need, and I’ll get it from the cabin if I can.”

  “Thank you for the offer, Tom.” Guwaya shook his head. But I cannot ask you to put yourself in such danger.”

  “It will be less dangerous for me than for you. If they see me, they won’t know who I am. I can just say I was out hunting, got lost, and found my way to the cabin. They would have no reason not to believe me. I’ll get your things if I can, and then we can take your family to the cave.” Tom handed Sagi to him.

  “You are right; you will probably have a better chance than I to make it to the cabin. But I cannot go to the cave—I must rescue my mother.”

  “You realize it will be extremely difficult to reach her if she has been taken to a fort. It will be well guarded, of course.”

  “I am not afraid of the militia,” Guwaya said brusquely.

  “I am not implying that you are. Did Ahni appear to be in imminent danger?” he asked Woyi.

  “No. The men were rough, but they were not physically abusive. At least not that I observed,” she answered.

  “Then, Guwaya, don’t you think it would be best to take advantage of the opportunity she gave you, at much risk to herself, to get everyone else to safety? Once there, we can consider a rescue plan.”

  Guwaya considered Tom’s words, looking at his son who was clinging tightly to his shirt. “Once again you are right, Tom. I am letting my emotions cloud my judgment. I will return to the cave with my family and wait for you to join us. Can you find your way to the cabin and back again to the cave, even in the dark?”

  “I can,” Tom confirmed. “It’s not that far to the cabin. I’ll leave the horse with Woyi, and meet you back at the cave as soon as I can.”

  Guwaya told Tom which items he would like from the cabin, and where they were located. He wanted Tom to retrieve several weapons he had hidden and some gold coins he had been saving. Usually, he would not bother with money for a stay in the wilderness, but he thought under the circumstances a need for the coins may arise. There were other things he would have liked to have, but he did not want to make Tom carry more than necessary. He shook Tom’s hand earnestly and urged him to use caution. He reminded Tom that the men may be watching the cabin. “At the least sign of danger, forget the things in the cabin and return to the cave.”

  Tom assured him he would be vigilant and headed down the trail.

  He was within sight of the cabin in under a quarter of an hour. Approaching from the rear, he paused at the edge of the woods to observe the cabin. It was dusk, not quite dark. A blessing, he thought—dark enough to provide cover, but light enough to see his way. The insects and other night creatures had begun their nocturnal symphony, suppressing the sound of his approach. There was about a hundred yards of meadow between his position and the cabin, most of it covered in tall grass, waving deceptively serene in the evening breeze.

  The cabin was still, but he could hear an intermittent plinking sound coming from the side of the cabin, blind to him in his current position. He edged his way to a better vantage point, keeping within the
cover of the woods. He heard laughter, followed by two distinct voices. He could now see the two young men; neither looking barely more than twenty years old. They were sitting on stumps, tossing rocks at a wash basin they had propped up to make a target. Great luck, he thought, they were absorbed and making enough racket to cover up his approach. He realized he would have to move quickly, darkness was descending and soon there would not be enough light for the men to continue their rock tossing game.

  Tom picked up a handful of black mud and rubbed it onto his face and forearms, darkening his white skin to dull any reflections from the fading light. He lowered himself onto his hands and knees and began creeping toward the opposite corner of the cabin, keeping his back below the level of the grass.

  He stopped again when he reached the end of the tall grass. There was about another hundred feet to the cabin, but he would have to cross an area where Guwaya had scythed the grass short for a yard. He could still hear the stones clanking into the washbasin and the men’s voices. They were not visible, which meant he wasn’t visible to them as long as they kept their game going. Even so, the apprehension of crossing the open area caused his heart to pound. Taking a deep breath, he felt the adrenaline kick in as he rose to a crouching position and scampered swiftly across the yard. He reached the corner of the porch and ducked behind it for cover in case his approach had been heard. He froze in position, held his breath, and listened.

  Another plink and more laughter. Tom willed himself to begin breathing again, slow and controlled, doing his best to calm his racing heart. He told himself that they were just teenagers, more interested in throwing rocks than watching for him. He also assumed they were armed, and knew that folks in this century were less likely to hesitate before resorting to violence. Still, he should be able to easily get into the cabin and retrieve Guwaya’s items without alerting them. If only they would keep playing their rock throwing game.

  Tom silently vaulted onto the porch, stepping lightly as he moved toward the cabin’s back door. He cringed and paused with each creak of the floorboards; even though there was no way the faint sounds could carry far enough to be heard. The door stood open; not unusual for a nineteenth century rural home, especially a Cherokee home where the doors were only closed during times of the most inclement weather. He paused once again just inside the cabin until he heard another stone being tossed, then made his way hastily to the bedroom where the weapons and money were stashed.

  Crouching next to the bed, he looked underneath. A Kentucky longrifle had been secured beneath the mattress, tied to the ropes running between the bed frame supports. He untied the rifle, and laid it on the floor next to him, then reached back under the foot of the bed bringing out a buckskin game bag. He opened the bag, checking that it contained the items Guwaya said it did—powder, lead balls, and cleaning supplies for the weapons, and a small pouch heavy with coins. The final item he pulled from under the bed was a pistol, a muzzleloader pistol matched to the caliber of the rifle. He stood up, sticking the pistol into his belt, slung the strap of the bag over his shoulder, and picked up the rifle.

  He breathed a little easier now that he had recovered the weapons. He couldn’t hear the stone throwing from inside the cabin, and glancing out of the window showed it was quickly becoming dark. It would not be long before the two men would give up their game due to the fading light. He hefted the heavy longrifle, and swiftly strode to the door. All he needed to do was make his exit and sneak back across the exposed area around the cabin. Once he reached the woods, he would once again have adequate cover. Two steps away from the open door his exit path was suddenly blocked. The two men stood in the opening, obviously startled by his presence.

  Their shocked faces quickly turned hostile. With eyes narrowing menacingly, one of the men spoke. “Who the hell are you?” he glared.

  Chapter thirty-six

  Adam caught up with Jimmy at the barn, where he was gathering the tools they needed for the morning chores.

  “I got a little behind on the apple pruning,” said Jimmy. “Too much time going to meetings and such. Most of the pruning should be done before the trees start to bud. With your help we can catch up pretty quick. The mature trees don’t need as much care as they did when they were first planted. You helped Benjamin to prune peach trees, so it’s the same idea with the apple trees. We just get rid of the deadwood and any overlapping branches.”

  “I always thought of apples as a cold weather fruit,” said Adam. “I’m surprised that you can grow them in Georgia.”

  “They do pretty well here in northern Georgia because we have the cooler temperatures from the mountains. They aren’t grown so much further south, though.”

  They carried the tools, lopping shears, saws, and a wooden crate to use as a step stool to the orchard and began pruning. Jimmy explained how when the trees were young he had to spread hay as mulch to keep down the weeds. Now that the trees were more mature he could just scythe around them once in a while. “It’s still tiring work, especially when it gets really hot. Besides pruning, there’s the harvesting and I have to fertilize in the fall. My small orchard is pretty easy to care for now, though. And I’ve never had a problem chasing down and catching any of the trees,” he teased, chuckling as he gave Adam a friendly slap on his back.

  “Very funny,” replied Adam, remembering his embarrassing experience with catching sheep. He returned the conversation to apples. “Do you sell the apples at the market?”

  “Usually we do. Depends on what else we have going. I mentioned that we also have tobacco and peanuts, and sometimes there is barely enough time to keep up with it all. If we have the extra time, Rebecca will make a few large batches of applesauce. Once the applesauce is put up, we can sell it during the off season. The applesauce is more profitable in years when apples are plentiful and the market price drops. Of course making and canning the applesauce costs us a little more, and takes more work, but we earn a little extra from our crop.”

  “That’s what we would call value-add. It’s a smart way to increase your profits by adding something extra to your product. You and Rebecca seem to be pretty savvy about farming, making sure you have the right amount of crops and livestock to make a living, and covering for all eventualities,” Adam said.

  “It is a balancing act sometimes. Even with all our planning we can still have bad years. That’s one reason it would be devastating to be forced to move to another part of the country. We know this area, what to expect for climate, what crops will do well and which ones won’t. Out west we would have to relearn a lot about farming in that part of the country.”

  “You’d still have your agricultural services ideas, though,” Adam offered. “If you had to relocate, you could develop those ideas to generate revenue for your living.”

  “As excited as I get about developing technology, I’m not foolish enough to give up my familiar, reliable way of making a living. Those ideas are dreams, speculation that might eventually come to fruition. I wouldn’t want to give up farming until I had first proven I could make a living from the farming services.”

  “Of course you’re right,” said Adam. “I didn’t mean to suggest that relocating would be an easy thing for you to do.” He thought about his own situation, where losing his job led to starting his own business. “It would certainly be a terrible loss if you had to give up your homeland. If that happens, you’ll be forced to alter your lifestyle. It’s possible that over time things might work out for the best. I mean, as far as making a living goes. Keep in mind I’m speaking from my own point of view, my future, where removal is a foregone conclusion.”

  “I cannot allow myself to believe that removal is inevitable,” Jimmy declared. “But if it does happen, I hope for my family’s sake I will still be able to provide for them. I believe such a disruptive upheaval would not be very conducive to starting a new enterprise.”

  From what Adam could remember about the Indian Removal, Jimmy was right. The turmoil would be tremendous. Even thoug
h they were initially greeted warmly, the arrival of so many new Cherokee emigrants in the Arkansas Territory eventually caused severe discord with the “Old Settlers,” the Cherokee that were already there, and a civil war erupted.

  Adam realized the situation Jimmy was facing was much more severe than his job loss. He didn’t want to risk insulting him with an example of how things had worked out for him, and decided it was not a good topic of discussion. He changed the subject to something more pleasant for both of them—technology. Adam had no idea what the time-travel rules were, nor what might cause a paradox, but he felt the need to use his knowledge of the future to give him some sort of advantage. He saw no harm in giving Jimmy a few insights into the technological developments that were in store for him.

  “In my version of history,” Adam began, “mechanization had the most profound effect upon agriculture. I’m sure you’ve thought about the power of the locomotives. The country is currently in the process of laying railroad tracks across the country. You have certainly considered the advantage of the steam engine over horse power.”

  “I have,” Jimmy answered, “and I’ve even attended some demonstrations of steam-powered engines on the farm. However, they have mostly proven to be too heavy, huge, and cumbersome to be used practically.”

  “At the moment, that’s true. It’s going to take another few decades of improvements in engine technology for them to become useful for agriculture. But, even though you can’t accept that my timeline is unavoidable, you can surely see that technological advancement is inevitable. Invention will happen, and those on the forefront of the successful endeavors will prosper.”

  Jimmy nodded. “I will agree that the advancement of technology must occur. Short of a collapse of civilization, that much is unavoidable.”

  “There will be many labor-saving machines invented, such as your cotton gin that will revolutionize farming. Even before a replacement for the horse comes along, many practical apparatuses will be adopted. There was an inventor in my home state of Delaware, name of Oliver Evans, who used steam engines to power a grist mill. He built the first automatic flour mill.”