Captive

by Heather Graham

  And then there was Teela. The woman who put everything together for him. Teela, with a capacity to love that knew no boundaries of color or creed, and allowed no obstacle to defeat it.

  And soon the family would be larger. Ian would have a little sister or brother, as would Jennifer.

  Jarrett waited until late at night, then met James in the library.

  “Everything seems perfect today,” James said, raising a brandy snifter to him. “Thank you.”

  Jarrett nodded, smiling with a crooked twist. “I wish things were perfect.”

  James sat forward, his heart thundering. “Mary—”

  “Your mother is fine. I’ve told you that.”

  “You didn’t lie?”

  “James—”

  “Of course you wouldn’t,” James said. “Then—”

  “I’ve taken the liberty of arranging a trip for us to Charleston.”

  “Charleston? Is someone in your family ill? Is there a problem with Teela’s property—”

  “Osceola has been taken there, to Fort Moultrie, along with a number of the Seminole prisoners. He is near death, James. He has asked for you.”

  The end was very near. James was well aware of that fact from the time he came into the room where Osceola lay dying. Osceola was aware of his own impending death; he had been aware of it for a long time, and now knew that it was nearly upon him. He was dressed in his finery—magnificent feathers adorned his turban and dress; rows of silver medallions were displayed down the length of his chest.

  James slowly approached the chief, thinking that Osceola might have already breathed his last, but he had not. He must have sensed James there, and he summoned the energy to open his eyes, and even to smile before he closed them again. He lifted a finger, indicating James should sit at his side, and James did so, taking his hand.

  “Not a death for a warrior, eh, my friend?” Osceola asked softly.

  “Death comes as rest for a great warrior who has led his people in a quest for freedom.”

  “A weary man.”

  So many people had died. White, red, black. Osceola’s grip was suddenly very strong, like the handshake many Seminoles had learned to offer the whites they had befriended. Osceola had been known at one time for such a hardy grip, taking a man’s arm firmly, nearly jerking it from the socket in a determined shake. Osceola had killed many men, befriended many men. He remained an enigma even to James in many ways. He was ready for death. A warrior who knew death well. Yet James clenched his teeth hard, fighting the sudden pain in his heart that stung hot fire behind his eyes.

  “Artists—white artists—have come to paint me, you know,” Osceola said. His eyes remained closed, his lips curled into a smile. “Many men. I have posed for them all. I liked the one they called Caitlin the best. He is familiar with many Indians, many different places. He interested me.”

  James nodded. “Your likeness will be everywhere.”

  Osceola opened his eyes again. “I have heard about the newspapers. They call Jesup a treacherous man, a coward, for the way that I was taken.”

  “Yes, there are many whites furious with what happened. Many who find you noble and courageous. That’s why so many men have come to sketch and paint you.”

  “He thought that the war would be over when I was gone,” Osceola said. “But it will not be over. Young warriors grow to men. The mosquitoes may best the white men in the end. There are places we can go they cannot follow. But I will be dead. I will not be a part of it.”

  James tightened his hold on Osceola’s arm. “You will be the greatest part of it. You are famous, even among the whites. They will see your picture, and they will know for eternity that you were a proud warrior, brought in only by the use of treachery. You will live on forever.”

  “I will die undefeated,” Osceola said, and James thought that he saw the trickle of tears beneath his dark lashes.

  “Undefeated. But you will not die, Osceola. To the whites and the Indians, you will live on. You are even now a legend among all the people. Even in death you will be a great warrior. Men throughout history will remember your name.”

  Osceola was silent, pleased with his friend’s words. He squeezed James’s hand. “And you, my friend? The war is over for me. What will it be for you?”

  James sighed softly. “It is over for me, too. I had thought I could help. I cannot.”

  “You will leave Florida? Become a white man?”

  “I don’t know what I will do right now. I have married—”

  “The wild, red-haired white vixen, Warren’s daughter. So I have heard. Had she been a part of this war, we might have been beaten long ago!”

  “Except that she doesn’t wish to beat us,” James said.

  “But she is your wife; you have killed Warren, and a child is due. So what does this mean?”

  “I don’t know yet. Maybe I will stay here, in Charleston, for a while. Or perhaps I will go home.”

  “Ah, but will you live happily among the whites where battle still rages?”

  “I’d go south. Jarrett and I own property down in the southeast section of the territory.”

  “Near Fort Dallas? There are soldiers there.”

  “And bands of Seminoles nearby. I don’t believe there will be much conflict because it is so remote, and because they will have to keep their eyes on each other. Maybe, sometimes, I will still be able to intercede on occasion.”

  “Maybe. Hmm. So the whites have set you free.” Once again Osceola’s large dark eyes opened gravely on James. “And you may go home.”

  “And I may stay here.”

  “You will go home, I think.” He smiled. “You are very eloquent, Running Bear. You always have been. I heard you were quite magnificent in court. That though your life was at stake, still you defended our people. The war may be over for you. You can fight no more, for there is no battle you can win. You are a man with integrity. You have found your own heart and soul once again. Don’t ever look back, my friend. You were a true friend to us all. We never bested you, and neither did the whites. Like me, my good friend, like many of our people, you have remained among the undefeated. Now go, Running Bear. Leave me to my wives and family. Go to your new wife and your new home. And in the years to come, help create a world where we all can live.”

  “Osceola—”

  “Go now. You have made my heart glad.”

  James rose and left the room. Wheedon nodded to him, and reentered the room, along with one of Osceola’s Seminole priests and his younger wife and one of his baby daughters.

  Past the antechamber, in the walled hallway, he found Teela waiting for him. She arched a brow at him and nodded when he shook his head. They walked in silence from the fort to the water, and there waited in silence again for the navy boat scheduled to take them back to Charleston.

  When they reached the Battery, they walked, looking out on the fort on the water, feeling the breeze pick up and blow around them.

  “I don’t think he can live another twenty-four hours,” he said at last.

  She slipped an arm around him. “I’m sorry, for I know you loved him.”

  “I loved him,” James said softly. “Some will mourn him more deeply than I will—and some may very well be glad that he is gone. Some of the chiefs have resented his rise to power, and blamed him for much of the misery the Indians have suffered. What no one has realized as yet is that the war will go on with an ever greater fervor. Osceola will become legend to the red men and the white. Wildcat will fight on, Arpeika—the white men call him old Sam Jones—will fight on. If they are caught, the tribes who have already run deeply into the Everglades will fight on.” He turned to her suddenly. “The question is you. Us. What do we do? Our child is due soon. This is your city.” He turned, indicating Charleston with a sweep of his arm. “It’s beautiful. Cultured, with such lovely homes. So many conveniences …”

  She smiled. “You would never be happy here.”

  “I have friends here. Jarrett’
s mother’s family are wonderful people—”

  “You would never be happy here.”

  “Our babe is due in perhaps eight weeks—”

  “I love Charleston, and will always love Charleston, and yes, it is a beautiful city, and we own a beautiful home here. I will want to visit, and we’ll have to come and keep up the plantation. One of our children will want it one day, or if we no longer want to keep it, we’ll want to make a profit on it. But I want to go home.”

  “You are home.”

  She shook her head. She smiled softly. “Not anymore, I’m not. Have you ever made love in the water? On an evening just at the time that sunset is coming? When the sun itself is like a golden orb, almost within reach yet sinking on the horizon in a mist of crimson and mauve, orange and yellow? Have you felt the breeze beneath the palms at that time … heard the sway of them, watched a pure white egret fly across the sun’s reflection in the water… ? James, home is where you are, where we found each other, where our dreams lie, where we’ll create our own life.”

  “But, Teela,” he said, lifting his hands, “I’ve told you, the war will not end.”

  “And what will that matter, since, at the least, the battle is over between us?”

  He laughed softly, turning against the breeze to cradle her against him. “Now, in truth, I’m not so sure that war will actually end, either, seeing that you are incredibly hardheaded and stubborn and—”

  “Ah, but my love! How else does one deal with a savage?” she interrupted, pressing against his chest to stare into his eyes with her demand.

  He began to laugh again.

  And he knew that though his life might continue to be rich with conflict, it would be rich.

  And it would be sweet.

  Because with Teela, it was love that would always remain undefeated.

  Epilogue

  Southeastern Florida, 1842

  John Harrington rode along the beach, picking his way around small tree stumps, trying to keep his mount walking along the hard-packed sand.

  He had come to the right place. Through an endless trail of pines he could see the house in the distance, a one-story structure built strong from what they were now calling Dade County pine—since this was now a county, and it had been named after Major Francis Dade and the pine was exceptionally fine and durable. It was a wonderful home, not as lavish as Cimarron, but as comfortable in a different way. The kitchen was inside, and the first room opening off from it was a huge dining area. The family ate there, and welcomed travelers to this remote area while the children could play and be seen at all times.

  “John!”

  Jennifer, now a very mature and willowy girl nearly eleven years old, called to him. She was sitting on a pine stump with a book, watching over her little brothers Jerome, now nearly five, Brent, three and a half, and sister, baby Sydney, almost two, laughing away as she threaded sand through her fingers.

  “Ah, ’tis the lot of you McKenzies!” John said, happily dismounting from his horse. He hugged Jennifer, offered her an elegant ivory-handled comb that caused her to squeal with delight, then gave the boys little drum sets and little Sydney a doll.

  “John,” Jennifer said, the lady of the house now, “the presents are lovely, but you know, we are desperate for news these days …”

  “Well, the news is this. The war is over. Worth—the general in charge now—says that it is over.”

  Jennifer gasped, delighted. Then she sobered. “Have—have my people surrendered!”

  The war years had been brutal. Osceola had died on January 31, 1838, then lived on to become legend, and though Congress had fought and politicians had screamed about costs and the Americans at large had been outraged at times, the battles had gone on and on. Zachary Taylor had taken the reins from a weary and disgusted Jesup. Walker Keith Armistead had followed Zachary Taylor, and then William Jenkins Worth had come in.

  Many Indians had been forced west. Even fierce, flamboyant Wildcat had come in at last and talked others into taking the trail west. But others had stayed.

  Others would never leave.

  Something called the Armed Occupation Act, by which Congress had allotted huge quantities of Florida land to those who would settle on it, had kept the population of the peninsula soaring, despite the small but fierce battles that had continued on long after the big battle at Okeechobee.

  And now …

  Well, there hadn’t been a major battle, no fanfare at the end. The last of the Indians had not surrendered. It had just been declared over.

  John smiled at Jennifer. “No, sweetheart, your people have not surrendered. Your grandma’s band is still south, and Mary herself says she’ll be here in time for your next birthday. It’s just … come to an end. Your dad will understand, I think. Know where he and Teela are?”

  “They took a walk to the lagoon. My father was gone for a while, to see my grandmother’s people. Then he stopped by the settlement near Fort Dallas for some supplies. He hasn’t been home very long, and Teela asked if I’d watch the children for them.” She said it with grave maturity. John lowered his head to hide his smile.

  “The lagoon?”

  “Yes. You’ll stay for dinner? I’ll tell Cook.”

  “Yes, I’ll stay for dinner.”

  He walked around the house toward the sunken lagoon that lay to the rear of the property. James hadn’t built on the bay but on an inland waterway, with wonderful little shallow inlets on the western side of it.

  He rounded the corner, then heard her laughter.

  He stood very still.

  Teela stood upon a tree stump above the aqua water of the lagoon, naked, red hair flaming in a wet fall so long it nearly made her lack of apparel somehow decent. He felt his heart lunge a bit, yet not so badly now, for, with the war over, he was going to marry a girl he’d met in Tampa recently and, he hoped, buy a piece of land from James and bring her here.

  This area was the future! Just because no one else saw it yet didn’t mean that it wasn’t so!

  Again the laughter, jolting him back to the present.

  “Jump!” he heard James call. Pitch black hair, ebony against his copper features, James stood in the shallow water, commanding her to come down to him. As naked as his wife, he remained as tautly, strongly built as ever. The two of them seemed to refuse to age.

  “Jump! What if you don’t catch me?”

  “And when have I not?”

  She smiled.

  “Come on, jump!” he encouraged.

  She did so, landing perfectly in his waiting arms.

  “I believe!” she whispered to him.

  He kissed her.

  John Harrington smiled and quickly, quietly turned away, hurrying back toward the house.

  Dinner would be plenty of time to talk.

  Florida Chronology

  1492 Christopher Columbus discovers the New World.

  1513 Florida discovered by Ponce de Leon. Juan Ponce de Leon sights Florida from his ship on March 27, steps on shore near present-day St. Augustine in early April.

  1539 Hernando de Soto lands on west coast of the peninsula, near present-day Tampa.

  1564 The French arrive and establish Fort Caroline on the St. Johns River.

  Immediately following the establishment of the French fort, Spain dispatches Pedro de Menendez to get rid of the French invaders, “pirates and perturbers of the public peace.” Menendez dutifully captures the French stronghold and slays or enslaves the inhabitants.

  1565 Pedro de Menendez founds St. Augustine, the first permanent European settlement in what is now the United States.

  1586 Sir Francis Drake attacks St. Augustine, burning and plundering the settlement.

  1698 Pensacola is founded.

  1740 British General James Oglethorpe invades Florida from Georgia.

  1763 At the end of the Seven Years’ War, or the French and Indian War, both the East and West Florida territories are ceded to Britain.

  1763-1783 British rule i
n East and West Florida.

  1774 The “shot heard ’round the world” is fired in Concord.

  1776 The War of Independence begins; many British Loyalists flee to Florida.

  1783 By the Treaty of Paris, Florida is returned to the Spanish.

  1812-1815 The War of 1812.

  1813-1814 The Creek Wars. “Red-Stick” land is decimated. Numerous Indians seek new lands south with the “Seminoles.”

  1814 General Andrew Jackson captures Pensacola.

  1815 The Battle of New Orleans.

  1817-1818 The First Seminole War. Americans accuse the Spanish of aiding the Indians in then-raids across the border. Hungry for more territory, settlers seek to force Spain into ceding the Floridas to the United States by their claims against the Spanish government for its inability to properly handle the situation within the territories.

  1819 Don Luis de Onis, Spanish minister to the United States, and Secretary of State John Quincy Adams sign a treaty by which the Floridas will become part of the United States.

  1821 The Onis-Adams Treaty is ratified. An act of Congress makes the two Floridas one territory. Jackson becomes the military governor, but relinquishes the post after a few months.

  1822 The first legislative council meets at Pensacola. Members from St. Augustine travel fifty-nine days by water to attend.

  1823 The second legislative council meets at St. Augustine: the western delegates are shipwrecked and barely escape death.

  The Treaty of Moultrie Creek is ratified by major Seminole chiefs and the federal government. The ink is barely dry before Indians are complaining that the lands are too small and white settlers are petitioning the government for a policy of Indian removal.

  1824 The third session meets at Tallahassee, a halfway point selected as a main order of business and approved at the second session. Tallahassee becomes the first territorial capital.