Trail 0f Fears (Native American Heritage)

by Sara R. Turnquist

  “Do you think I am responsible for what is happening to your people?” His voice was soft and kind. Too kind.

  And she knew. In that moment, it was clear. He had known about her anger toward him. Despite her tears, she turned to meet his eyes again. But she saw no accusations there, only sympathy.

  “No.” And she believed that with every part of her being.

  He exhaled, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he spoke, “You are no more responsible for the actions of your people than I am for the actions of mine.”

  She nodded, basking in his grace. He had every right to turn her earlier anger toward him back against her now. Only he didn’t. And then she understood why she needed Jesus. While it may be true that her life was full of good things, there were things in her life and in her soul that were sinful. Her anger toward Thomas was but one example.

  She needed God's forgiveness.

  She needed His grace.

  Thomas's face twisted, and he held his side.

  “What is it?” She leaned forward, laying a hand on his shoulder.

  He held up a hand. “Just a muscle cramp.”

  “We must get you to the medicine man.”

  “I don't think…”

  She gave him a look she hoped invited no argument.

  He nodded his surrender.

  ****

  Lillian Greyson moved about the dinning space. She couldn’t help but smile. For she was well pleased. Everything seemed to be going her way. So far, two Indian groups had signed treaties, and one more was in progress, according to Arthur. It seemed as if her son would be home soon. Imagine—Tommy returning, the prodigal son. He could find a church here, court a girl, settle down…

  But they would not focus on that this night. Tonight would be about Phillip. Her eldest had accepted a promotion to partner at his law firm. Such exciting news! Phillip, Clara, and their two children would be dining with her and Arthur tonight.

  She returned her attention to the task at hand—the table arrangements. The room looked splendid. Everything was ready.

  And just in time. They would be here any minute.

  “Go tell Mr. Greyson it’s almost time.”

  A nearby housemaid nodded and moved off on her errand.

  Just then, the door chimed.

  She would prefer to be in the parlor to greet her guests. But they would catch her in the hallway.

  It would be just as well she meet them at the door.

  Stepping toward the entrance, she listened as the butler welcomed Phillip and his family in.

  “Dearest Phillip!” Lillian came around the corner with open arms.

  “Mother!” Phillip accepted her embrace.

  She couldn't help but think of Thomas while embracing Phillip. Not only because of how much her two sons favored each other, but perhaps it was where her thoughts were most often of late.

  Was he warm? Being cared for? Did he have friends?

  As she pulled back from Phillip's shoulder, she pushed thoughts of Thomas from her mind and shifted her attention to the children around her.

  “Come, give Grandma hugs.” She leaned down and extended her arms.

  Two brown-haired children stepped to her.

  As she rose, Clara laid a hand on her shoulder. “How are you, Mrs. Greyson?”

  “Quite well, thank you. And you're looking well”

  “Thank you. I'm trying a new hairstyle.” Clara seemed somewhat timid. Why did she always have to act that way? It wasn’t as if Lillian may bite her.

  “It's rather… unique.” She hoped her voice did not betray her true thoughts. Clara's hair looked ridiculous. Far too elaborate for any everyday style. The young woman might as well have been going to see the queen of England in that up-do. Curls everywhere. And Lillian wagered about a thousand pins to keep it stable.

  “Ah, there's the man of the hour!” Arthur said from the top of the stairs.

  Lillian shot him a look as he descended. Why must he insist on that old out-of-date coat? Before meeting anyone’s eyes, however, she found her smile again.

  “Grandpa!” the children called.

  He pulled them into his arms as he stepped onto the bottom stair.

  “Perhaps we should move into the parlor where there's more room.” She put a hand on Phillip’s arm and allowed him to escort her in that direction.

  Everyone followed suit and fell in line.

  As they entered the parlor, the children ran to their corner. Lillian always made certain there were games and toys put out for them. The adults would be more able to enjoy the sitting area and converse freely until the butler called for dinner.

  The men launched into talk of politics. Why must they speak of such boorish things?

  Lillian smoothed over her skirt and turned to Clara. Must she attend to her with that hair?

  She searched for something to say. Anything. Did they have something in common? If nothing, Lillian had good breeding. There was that to fall back on. “What is new with you?”

  “Nothing to speak of.”

  Will she not assist me with this conversation making? Is she as dull as she seems?

  Then she spoke again.

  Thank the Lord!

  “The children take up much of my time. And with Phillip's promotion, I would like to think we might see more of him… but I doubt that will be the case.”

  Fill her day? The children? That certainly couldn’t be so. Didn’t they attend some sort of learning institution? “What fills your day while the children are in school?”

  “I do enjoy painting and sewing. And I keep up with the house and correspondence with my family. But I wish I had some other outlet.” The last word came out a bit shaky.

  Dearest God in heaven, the woman was hopeless! Must Lillian hold her hand? “You should come join me at the women's booster club. It would be a good opportunity for you to get out of the house and into the community.” As soon as she said it, Lillian regretted it. Maybe inviting Clara into her own booster club was a mistake. There were others.

  “That sounds like something I would be interested in.”

  Wonderful. Now she would be stuck. Lillian looked away as she was certain her thoughts were on her features.

  “How is Emma and her little addition?” Clara asked.

  Now this was a subject Lillian loved. “Oh, the new little one is absolutely delightful. But I know Emma is tired.” She wanted to speak further, but perhaps she best not.

  Clara nodded.

  Another silence.

  Clara excused herself to check on the children, and Lillian turned toward the conversation between the two men.

  “I read that seven Seminole chiefs went to inspect the new reservation before signing a treaty,” Arthur said.

  “I bet all of Washington D.C. is holding its breath. None of the other tribes have been so bold.” Phillip let out a stiff a laugh.

  “I don't know that President Jackson has anything to worry about.” Arthur spoke with a more serious tone. “What are the Indians going to do even if they don't like what they find? They can't realistically stay here forever.” Arthur stressed the word 'realistically.'

  “What do you mean? It's their land. Why can't they stay as long as they please?” Phillip's confusion played on his face.

  “It's not that simple. Did you read about the treaty the Creek Indians signed?”

  “Yes. I thought it was a fair treaty. It gave the Indians a chance to decide for themselves and their families if they wanted to sell their own land.” Phillip’s tone matched Arthur's.

  “Have you not also read that squatters and land speculators are defrauding the Creeks out of their allotments? There's been fighting and all manner of violence breaking out because of it.”

  Phillip raised a brow. “And what is the governor doing about it?”

  Arthur shrugged. “Nothing, as far as I know. No reports of any intervention by the governor or the state militia. And President Jackson is taking a hand's off app
roach to this one, it seems.”

  Fighting. Violence. This didn’t sound good to Lillian. Not one bit.

  “How will this affect Thomas?” Phillip threw a hand up.

  “Thomas?” Lillian interjected, a lilt to her voice.

  “I was just wondering what affect all this business with the Indians will have on Thomas where he is,” Phillip explained.

  “He's with the Cherokee.” Arthur gave Phillip a sharp look. “We've heard nothing of the Cherokee in the news.”

  “That's right.” Phillip nodded toward his father. He then turned toward his mother. “I'm sure Thomas is doing well. Have you heard from him lately?”

  That was a relief! Lillian settled herself back in her seat and smiled. “We heard from him a while ago. He is doing well. He wrote to us of his students and the connections he is making. We're so proud of him.”

  “That's great, Mother. I'm really glad to hear he's thriving.”

  The butler entered the parlor just then and announced dinner.

  “Shall we?” Lillian stood, hands clasped to hold them steady. All this talk, and her poor Thomas…

  Arthur stood. “We shall.” He reached for Lillian's hand and escorted her from the room.

  Dinner awaited them.

  Thomas was fine. Warm. Happy.

  Then, why the trembling hands?

  Lillian swallowed the lump in her throat and held tight to Arthur.

  ****

  Adsila leaned back, angling her body toward the sky. The heat of the sun covered her skin. Closing her eyes, she sighed as the rays bathed her. She soaked up the light much as her plants did. Would it rejuvenate her the same? Couldn’t she just sit here forever? Why couldn’t life be as simple as her garden? Without complications?

  But it wasn’t.

  And she couldn’t pretend it was.

  Mother and Father must not realize how thin the walls of their small cabin truly were. Their words penetrated her solitude. Would she rather not know?

  Her heart poured hot liquid. Tiny rivers formed on her face.

  Yes, she mourned for the Choctaw, the Creek, and even more… for what may happen to her people.

  The wind lifted her braid slightly. Would it carry her fears away?

  If only.

  She exhaled into the wind.

  Oh God!

  Could He hear her? She had never prayed to the Christian God.

  God, are you there? Do you care about my people? Didn't you care about the Choctaw? The Creek?

  No answer.

  Thomas says You care, but You allowed them to be…

  What? What words to put to it?

  If You are almighty and all-powerful, could You not have stopped it?

  Thomas’s voice came to her, “God has a plan in all things. We don't always understand, but if we look for it, we can see His hand.”

  Is that true, God? Could this be Your plan?

  A shudder shook her shoulders.

  If so, I’m not sure I want any part of You. A good God would not allow such suffering.

  “God is unchanging. God is love. God is good,” Thomas’s voice continued in her head. “We cannot lean on our own understanding. Our perception is imperfect.”

  Could Thomas be wrong? A part of her wanted to believe, but what she saw around her didn’t fit the idea of a loving, merciful God.

  Thomas had said God was big enough for her questions. She gazed toward the clouds.

  Help me understand. If You truly are who Thomas says You are, help me understand.

  A man cleared his throat behind her.

  She jerked her head around, nearly losing her balance. She caught herself just short of falling face first in the dirt.

  Thomas stood by the fence, a half grin on his face. How long had he been there?

  “Thomas! I…” she said, trying to stand up. Had she been praying out loud? What had he heard?

  “I didn’t mean to intrude.” But his smile widened to cover his entire face.

  Her features warmed. He must have heard everything.

  Once the dirt was beneath her feet and her dress smoothed, she raised her eyes to meet his again. “I'm sorry, when did you… where did you…?”

  She couldn’t even form a sentence. Swearing briefly in her native language, she cursed her tongue-tie.

  “Not long.”

  His eyes were bright. Amused?

  “I didn’t wish to disturb you. You seemed so peaceful.”

  She folded her arms over her chest and looked toward the ground. Couldn’t she become a bird and fly away?

  “But I didn’t want to eavesdrop either.” He tilted his head and caught her eyes. “Honest.”

  She glanced at what a picture he made, hunched over and head cocked to the side. He looked like his body was disjointed. A little laugh escaped her lips.

  He straightened and chuckled, too. Did he know what a sight he was?

  Either way, it felt good to share a laugh.

  “You’re not intruding.” She stepped toward him, maneuvering through the small gate to stand next to him. “I was just thinking.”

  He nodded, but his gaze drifted to something in the distance. Where were his thoughts?

  “Did you need to speak with my father? I can fetch him.” She turned in the direction of the house.

  “No,” he said, placing a hand on her arm.

  She glanced at the place where he made contact. Why did his touch heat her skin so?

  He pulled his hand back. Did he think he had offended?

  “I, um, came to talk to you.”

  “Me?” What would he need with her? While they’d had their share of interactions, it was always a result of them being thrown together. Single men only sought maidens out for one reason.

  “I need to ask a favor.” He shoved both hands in his pockets.

  What kinds of favors did white men ask maidens for? She leaned against the fence post. Her stomach turned.

  “I need to be away. Only for a few days. I wondered if you could… if you wanted to… if you’d be willing to… take up teaching at the school? Just until I get back.”

  A knot pinched in the pit of her stomach. “You’re leaving?”

  His gaze leveled on her, his blue eyes darker than she had ever seen. Was he weighing some decision?

  Finally, he spoke. “The state of Georgia has passed a law that prohibits white men from living on Indian land without a state license.”

  She shook her head. State law? What could this mean? Keeping white men off Indian land? Wasn’t this a good thing? Except… except it would mean all the missionaries, the teachers; any aide would be forced to leave.

  “One of the missionaries, Samuel Worcester, believes this law is a way the state is taking power from the Cherokee Nation. Passing a law to tell them how to manage their own territory. Twelve of us missionaries are going to New Echota to protest.”

  “You and other white men are going to protest your government for the sake of the Cherokee?” Her eyes widened. There was a strange sensation high in her chest. Not unpleasant exactly.

  “Of course.” His eyes searched her features. “What they are doing is not right. Your people should be allowed to govern yourselves. The Cherokee have a governing system. It's not as if it's anarchy down here.”

  The tingling in her chest intensified and filled that space until it seemed it would burst she was so… happy? But why did the knot in her stomach continue to tighten?

  “So, will you?” His eyes were bright, his voice soft and low.

  “Will I what?” What had he asked me again?

  “Will you take charge of the school while I'm gone?”

  “Do you think I am the most qualified?” Her brows furrowed. “What about Atohi?” She could not be the most suitable replacement.

  “Not the most qualified? I think you could teach the children a lot about herbs and gardening. You have the best English in the village. Besides, Atohi's wife will deliver any day now.”

  Her face he
ated all the more. Such compliments! But he was right about Yona.

  “If you are certain, I will accept.” She managed to make her mouth broaden into a smile she wasn’t sure she felt.

  “I am certain.” He placed a hand on hers.

  And it came—that silence in which they just stared at one another. What was he thinking? Drawn into those blue-gray eyes, she found it difficult to think. And, try as she might, she could not tear herself away.

  Thomas disrupted their gaze by turning and then pulled his hand away.

  She gripped the fence to keep from swaying toward him. Did he notice?

  “Thank you, Adsila. I am much relieved to know I leave the classroom in good hands.”

  She offered him a weak smile. Her thoughts and emotions were too tangled for anything more. “When will you leave?”

  “Three days from now.”

  The knot tightened. It was unbearable now. She placed a hand over her middle.

  “Could you come to the schoolhouse tomorrow? It would give me a chance to tell you where we are in math, reading, and science.”

  She nodded, afraid to speak, afraid of what she may say.

  “I'll be going, then.” He turned.

  What was she going to do? Could she let him walk away? Her heart thundered. And her throat tightened as his steps carried him away from her.

  “Dinner?” she called.

  “What?” He spun, an eyebrow quirked.

  “Would you like to stay for dinner?” She let out a long breath.

  He smiled. “Love to.”

  ****

  Walter Buckner moved pen across paper. He busied himself answering constituent mail. Not his favorite part of the job, but it was necessary. The senator's staff must not forget the men whose votes got Frelinghuysen here, and, by extension, them.

  The Indian issue was often mentioned. Some wanted Frelinghuysen to support their removal, but many who voted him in because of his political bend, encouraged him to keep fighting for their Christian duty to the Indians.

  As this political debacle continued (there was no other word for it), the more Walter was sure it would forever tarnish the reputation of Jackson's presidency.

  Someone brushed against his desk. He glanced up. Mason, Frelinghuysen’s secretary. What could he want? The man was always stirring up some kind of trouble in the office.

  “Here's some more letters.” He placed a stack of opened envelopes in front of Walter.