Thomas closed the volume in his lap. It had not provided the answers it promised. He resisted the urge to stretch his arms, instead, indicating a seat nearby.
Phillip shook his head. “I can’t stay long. But I felt it was my duty to share some rather good news.” He made a slight bend at the waist toward Thomas as if speaking down to a child. Would he ever see Thomas as a grown man?
Thomas brushed his rising frustration aside. It wouldn’t serve either of them. “Whatever could have made you rush over here?” Had he news of the court case? Had something been decided about the Cherokee? Would they be removed soon? Ejected from their homes while he was forced to remain here—?
Phillip spoke, breaking into Thomas’s thoughts. “A ruling came down in Worcester v. Georgia.”
“Oh?” Thomas’s forehead tightened as his brows rose. He gripped the arms of the chair. Rampant emotions were difficult to keep in place. Was his face the mask he hoped?
Phillip watched him, his own features unreadable. What could Phillip gain from Thomas’s? “The court ruled that only the national government, not the state governments, have authority in Indian affairs.”
Thomas turned his head. The words made sense, but what were the ramifications? Could he return? “What does that mean?”
“In other words, Georgia cannot impose laws in Cherokee territory. The law prohibiting you from living among the Cherokee is void.” Phillip made a slash with his arm.
“Then, I can go back to my village?” Thomas stood, no longer concerned with containing his emotions.
Phillip’s brows furrowed.
What had he seen?
Thomas dropped his arms to his sides. “That is… good. For the people.”
An awkward silence fell between them.
“And the missionaries.”
“Yes,” Phillip said, measuring out his words. “I suppose it will be good for them.”
Thomas met his eyes. “And for me.”
“You?”
Tilting his chin down slightly, Thomas set his features. “Of course.”
Phillip did not speak. What was he waiting for?
“I intend to go back to my post.”
“Why?” Phillip crossed his arms. His features contorted. Was he so concerned? “These people are marked for removal. There is nothing you can do to stop it.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. But I can share Jesus with them until that time.”
Phillip’s gaze held. How could that man’s stare be so intense?
“It's what God called me to do.”
“Are you certain that is all?” One of Phillip’s brows arched.
What did he imply? Did he suspect there was a more base reason Thomas wished to return? Heat crept up Thomas’s face. He opened his mouth to chastise his brother, but bit back his response. Was Phillip right? Did he want to return because of his mission to the people or because of a hope for something with Adsila?
He stepped back and looked down, testing that thought. Had she given him any reason to think there was potential? Perhaps. But there was no promise. The reality remained that they were quite different. And they had drastically different outlooks. Besides, she did not want a relationship with Jesus. That was the long and short of it.
Thomas met Phillip’s stare once more. Only this time, with more confidence. “I must return for the sake of the Gospel. To carry His name and His word to the people who need it.”
Phillip nodded. “It's what you truly want, isn't it?”
Thomas’s jaw was set as he bobbed his head. He pushed all thoughts of Adsila from his mind.
“Then I support you one hundred percent.” The hard edge to Phillip’s gaze softened.
“I am grateful.” Thomas stepped toward Phillip. “You don’t know how much.”
“Just don’t make me show my support by being in the room when you tell Mother.” Phillip landed a hand on his brother’s back.
Though his voice was light, Thomas knew all too well how serious he was.
Mother's heart could be rather tender. It had been difficult the first time he left. But God would be with her, give her peace, and comfort her. She had to understand that he had been called. She would understand. Wouldn’t she?
****
Frelinghuysen pushed a breath out through his teeth. The final numbers came in. Not even close! Not at all.
Andrew Jackson would retain the Presidency. By a landslide.
As he sank into a nearby chair, Frelinghuysen put his head in his hands.
What was he going to do?
The American people had spoken.
They supported Jackson and his policies.
How could they not care that he thumbed his nose at the law and did whatever he darn well pleased? In fact, it seemed the people wanted a president that behaved in such a way.
The people couldn’t be so blind, so ignorant to the goings on of Jackson and his administration.
They had to care.
But Charlotte was right… Frelinghuysen couldn't make them. Perhaps a majority of Americans were nothing more than sheep. They would even follow a wolf to his lair for the slaughter.
As long as he spoke the right words.
Where were the Christians? The people who were supposed to speak out? To use their votes to oppose all manner of deceitfulness and treachery?
Or was he truly alone in this?
****
The morning had come—crisp and new. But for Adsila, it didn't seem as bright and sunny. She took the quicker route to the schoolhouse. The one that did not take her by the creek. It was no use. Not even the sight of the teeming water could improve her mood today. Nothing, it seemed, would turn out well.
Father intimated this morning that a faction was forming within the Cherokee nation. And this group wanted to sign a treaty with the U.S. Government. Trade their land for whatever pieces of silver they could get. Started by a man named Ridge, the growing faction had taken on the name ‘Treaty Party.’
Adsila’s whole being ached. A growing weight in the bottom of her stomach made her nauseated. Would her people not stay and fight? What would become of them? After centuries of surviving, independent and proud, would they succumb to the jingle of a few coins?
As she approached the schoolhouse, she straightened her back and squared her shoulders. Nothing good would come from her melancholy in front of the students. They needn’t know. If they didn’t already.
Stepping into the one-room building, she set her things down and prepared the classroom and herself for the arrival of the students.
It wouldn't be long; she would have only a few minutes to herself. Her mind escaped to the same thing it always did when she had a quiet moment— Thomas.
Where was he? What was he doing? She had been relieved to hear of his pardon, but it saddened her that he would not be able to return.
When had it happened? These feelings for him?
She did not know, but she could not deny the ache in her chest when she thought of him. And now she would probably never see him again. Still, she wished him well. She truly did. He should be happy where ever he was.
Adsila pulled herself from her musings. Her students would be here soon. Shifting papers on the desk, she could not help but let her hand linger on the worn wood. Thomas’s hands rested here once.
She closed her eyes and let her memory trace the lines of his face.
The door creaked.
Her eyes opened.
The first of her students nodded in her direction and made their way to their desks.
And so, it begins…
She stood as the children found their seats. Over the next several minutes, the classroom filled as Adsila forced herself to focus. Once all were accounted for, she secured the door, and they went through the morning routine before she launched into her first lesson.
When Adsila first realized that she had landed this teaching job as a permanent placement, she became determined that she would teach the children things that would be practic
al. Many of them would be farmers. Some would keep sheep. So, their lesson today would be on sheep and other livestock.
“What do we know about sheep?” She watched the children from the front of the class.
“They smell funny,” one student said, contorting her face.
“We use them for clothing,” another shouted out.
“We are like sheep,” an older student tried.
“What?” Adsila wrinkled her nose.
“Mr. Greyson says that we are like sheep,” the student attempted to explain.
Now, Adsila was quite confused. “I don’t understand.”
“Mr. Greyson told us that we are like lost sheep. And that Jesus is like a shepherd who will leave the whole flock to find one lost sheep.”
“Leave a whole flock to find one lost sheep? That doesn't make much sense.” What was this nonsense? Surely the student misheard Thomas.
Another of the more advanced students spoke up. “That's what we said. He told us that this is how much Jesus cares about those who don't know Him.”
Adsila stared; she didn’t know how to respond.
No so for the students. The first student continued.
“He used another example.” The student came to the front of the class and stood beside Adsila. Holding up one hand the student said. “This hand is me.”
She laid the hand flat, palm up, and placed a small book of poems on top of her hand. “And this book is my life. Written on the pages is everything I have done and said, good or bad. My other hand” —she held up her other hand— “represents God.” She tried to put her hands together, but the book was in the way.
“God cannot commune with me because my sinful deeds are in the way. God cannot commune with sin. Now this hand is Jesus” —she grabbed one of Adsila’s hands— “All we, like sheep, have gone astray, every one to his own way. But God has laid on Him”— she transferred the book onto Adsila’s 'Jesus' hand— “the iniquity of our sin.”
She put the book down. “Now we are free to commune with God.” She put her hands together and even interlinked her fingers.
“I see,” Adsila said. “Thank you.” Her thoughts raced. Why would Jesus leave heaven to come find her, a 'lost' soul? If what her students had just told her was true, it was because He loved her deeply. Had He come and died so that she could be in communion with God? So that her sin could be paid for? If so, she truly did need Jesus. She needed salvation.
****
Atohi stepped through the door and into his home. Why had Yona summoned him? Not that he was ungrateful. He relished the break from his work in the field.
As he entered, he sought out his wife. What had happened? Was she well? Had Mohe gotten in trouble at school? Was the young one all right?
As his eyes adjusted to the dimmer recesses of the cabin, he saw the reason for her interruption of his work, and his thoughts calmed.
Yona and Inola fawned over the infant in the nearby great room.
Gawonii was at the dining table, sipping coffee. Another steaming cup sat to his right.
Atohi smiled and took his seat, dragging the warm beverage closer.
“To what do we owe this visit?” Atohi’s words were out only moments before the cup’s rim met his lips.
“You will have a good dinner tonight.” Gawonii’s eyes gleamed as he smiled and looked toward his wife.
“Ah,” Atohi said, already salivating. Inola’s cooking had long since been heralded as the best in the village. What had she prepared for them? Not that it mattered. Anything she made would be delicious.
“You seem tired, my friend.” Gawonii clapped him on the shoulder.
Atohi nodded. “I sleep too light. And I wake every time Yona rises to feed.”
Gawonii looked down and his shoulders shook. Contained laughter?
No offense meant, none taken. Such was the way with friends. Gawonii perhaps remembered his own days with young children.
His eyes lifted as he took another sip. “Have you read a paper in the last week?”
“No, I am out of touch with the happenings of the world. What goes with the Cherokee nation?” Atohi met Gawonii’s gaze. Had something of importance occurred? Gawonii wouldn’t have spoken of it unless there was news.
“There has been a split of the Cherokee nation.”
Atohi swallowed his sip of coffee with difficulty. “A split?”
“No one has told you? There has been formed the Treaty Party and the National Party.”
Atohi stared at his cup. How could he look at Gawonii and not show his concern?
Gawonii leaned forward. “The portion of the Cherokee who wish to make a treaty with the U.S. government formed the Treaty Party.”
Atohi looked to Gawonii and narrowed his eyes. “I had heard of this group. Before.”
“Chief Ross canceled the national tribal elections this year because of all the dissension.”
Atohi's eyebrows shot up. What a big move for the Principal Chief to make. Daring even. The man who sat over all the tribes and their chiefs had made a risky decision. Would it prove a good one?
“Wise. I think. Much has happened. Too much is at stake.”
Atohi nodded. His fingers ached. He loosened them. Had he been gripping the cup so tightly?
“The national council threatened to impeach the Ridges. But…”
“What?” Atohi's widened his eyes.
Gawonii glanced at the women.
They were engaged in what appeared to be light-hearted conversation.
The older man leaned even closer to Atohi, so he did the same.
“Murder.” Gawonii’s voice deepened as he whispered.
Atohi’s vision blurred. “Murder? Not Chief Ross…”
“No.” Gawonii shook his head, looking back toward the women.
Had Atohi’s remark disturbed them?
Yona and Inola continued to chatter on.
Gawonii scooted his chair closer. “A prominent member of the Treaty Party — John Walker.”
Atohi could not have pulled his gaze away from Gawonii’s if he had tried, the man’s eyes were so intense. “Did they discover who—?”
“Not yet. But now the Ridges have formed their own council and insist on having their own elections. A man, William Hicks, now leads the pro-treaty council.”
Atohi’s head swam, but he would not let his features show it. He pressed his mouth into a straight line and lowered his brows. “This is not the time for such nonsense. It is enough we have to fight against the white man. What chance do we have if we don't stand together?”
Gawonii eyes were solemn. “I do not see the way forward. But I believe it will become much worse before we see good. If there is to be better at all.”
****
Thomas stepped into the parlor. He heard the light breathing of his mother within the darkened room. Only the early light of dawn lit the room. All was quiet and solemn. If he didn't know better, he would have thought she was sitting up with the dead.
The door creaked as he closed it, and her head jerked in his direction.
Seeing it was him, she lowered her head once more.
“Mother?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
There was no answer.
“Mother, talk to me,” he said, a bit more insistent.
A whimper came from her direction, and her shoulders shook.
Crossing the room, he knelt in front of her and gazed up into her downcast eyes.
“Mother, don't be sad.” He took her hands in his.
“How can I not be sad?” Her voice broke as she spoke.
“How can you ask me not to follow God's will for my life?” He widened his eyes and frowned. Was Mother not as committed to God’s mission as he thought?
“How can God take you so far away from me? And put you in harm’s way?” She reached a trembling hand toward him.
“Did you, yourself, not teach me that God is not always safe, but He is always good?”
She bit at her
lip, tears flowing down her face.
“Mother, you know I have to go.” Could he go and leave his mother like this? Dare he not? He must follow God’s direction. And Adsila…
She nodded.
“I don't want us to part like this.”
She looked away, pulling her hand back to put it to her own face.
“Please, don't make me leave you like this.”
She sniffed a couple of times and wiped away the tears. Then she faced him with a brave smile.
“I am so proud of you, Thomas.”
“I know.” He leaned forward and slid his arms around her.
Her body shook again. “I'm sorry. I am trying to contain myself. I am.”
“It's okay. Your tears don't upset me. As long as I know I have your blessing,” he said into her shoulder. His heartbeat thundered, but his trust was firm in God. All would be well.
She pulled back and took his face in her hands. Her gaze caught and held his for several seconds, and then she pressed a firm kiss on his forehead. “You have it, my darling boy. You have it. Go with God!”
****
Walter Buckner crumpled the fine stationary in one hand as he set his head in the other. Tightness filled his chest and pressed up into his throat and, with it, heat. He shut his eyes. Perhaps it would keep him from finding a target for his anger.
Anger.
An emotion he thought he could control better.
And why had it taken him by storm now?
Not because of disbelief. Should he be surprised by such tidings? He wasn’t.
This almost living being pushing to get out, stirred by the words written upon delicate paper, found its reasoning in an offended sensibility. Or perhaps an offended pride.
The letter came from Harry.
His friend saw the need to let Walter in on something that everyone else had been talking about.
President Jackson had written to one of his representatives, John Coffee. How the president’s private correspondence had become known by others in the Capitol, Walter did not know. Why it was now knowledge of his own, he did not care. Would that he did not know at all.
Still, he found himself unfolding the cream-colored paper and reading the recitation of the president’s words: '…the decision of the Supreme Court has fell stillborn, and they find that they cannot coerce Georgia to yield to its mandate.'
Trail 0f Fears (Native American Heritage) Page 10
