Trail 0f Fears (Native American Heritage)

by Sara R. Turnquist

  Walter’s hands shook.

  So, Jackson thought the Court's opinion was just that—their opinion. And, since they had no power to enforce it, what did it matter?

  Senator Frelinghuysen had been right, President Jackson did not intend to enforce or even respect the Supreme Court's decision.

  Had this letter been made public weeks ago, would it have affected the election?

  Walter’s stomach turned, and he tasted bile. There was little doubt in his mind that the American people would not have cared.

  This couldn’t be happening.

  Not in the United States of America.

  How would history remember this moment?

  Remember Andrew Jackson?

  ****

  The children ran out of the schoolhouse. Recess — another part of the day Adsila both looked forward to and dreaded. Left alone with her thoughts again, they often drifted to Thomas. Could she not control them? No matter how determined this would not be the case anymore, a random object in the classroom had her stuck in a daydream once more.

  Not today. She had to learn more about this Jesus. Running a finger along the volumes on the small shelf, she picked up a Bible Thomas had left behind.

  But where should she begin? Was this a book you started at the front? Or from anywhere you chose?

  Perhaps she best open it at the beginning. And go from there.

  The first of the Bible read easily enough. God created everything. But where was Jesus? The first man’s name was Adam, not Jesus. Surely Jesus would come soon. Instead a serpent came and led the man and woman astray, the purity of the garden was destroyed.

  Adsila’s stomach growled. Perhaps she should eat her meal before recess ended.

  She grumbled and put the Bible aside.

  Checking her braid, she pushed all thoughts of the Bible away for later and moved toward the door.

  The voices outside became louder. Much more so than they should have been.

  Was there some sort of commotion?

  Rushing to the window, she peered out.

  The students were in a huddle.

  A fight?

  Grabbing up her skirts, she rushed into the schoolyard.

  Pushing through the students, she worked her way to the center of the crowd.

  “Stop! Stop that now!” she called as she pulled students off of students.

  She was almost to the center. When she discovered the culprits, they would learn the consequences of breaking her rules.

  Suddenly, a man, not a schoolboy, stood from his crouched position.

  Thomas Greyson.

  Her heart stopped beating for a full five seconds. Then it was as if it would burst from her chest.

  “Thomas!” She rushed to embrace him, throwing her arms around him.

  He caught her, sliding his arms around her after a few seconds.

  She breathed in the scent of him. Relished the feel of him. Wait. Where were they? Had she just thrown herself at him? This is not what they were to each other. And in the schoolyard? In front of the children?

  Peering sideways at her students, she loosened her grip.

  The children stared.

  She released her hold on him and stepped back. Her face burned.

  “Mr. Greyson,” she said, smoothing her skirt. “I am… glad to see you.”

  Some of the children giggled.

  Thomas shot them a harsh look. Then his eyes were on Adsila. “And I you.”

  She glanced away. When had his eyes become so intense? “The children have missed you so much.”

  “They've been in good hands.” He smiled broadly.

  Her face warmed all the more.

  A couple of the children whispered to each other.

  “As you know, Mr. Greyson,” she said loudly, as she glared at the group of students. “Recess is over.”

  The children groaned.

  “But we would love if you would join us for the rest of today's lessons.” She smiled.

  Whispers of 'oh, please' were heard as the students clamored closer.

  “I would like that very much,” Thomas said, gazing at his students.

  The children cheered.

  ****

  Gawonii took his place in the sacred semi-circle. This council had been meeting for many, many years now. The faces of his counterparts were familiar, as were their families. Even their struggles through the years had been known to him. They were every bit his people as if he were chief.

  They talked amongst themselves as they waited for Chief Unaduti to call them to order.

  But Gawonii did not participate in any of the many conversations. His gaze moved about the semi-circle, and he wondered after the future of these men. Would this council remain? Would their sons take up these seats? Would Tsiyi discuss the issues of his people as Gawonii did? Or would this, too, be stripped from them?

  “Friends.” Chief Unaduti spoke loudly, though his voice alone would have been enough to draw their attention. “I have summoned you for many reasons. Some of which you are already aware. You have read the Cherokee Phoenix, as have I. The seven Seminole chiefs sent to scout the land out west have returned. They say they were forced to sign a statement that the new land is acceptable. But it is not good land which they offer for the fertile land they wish to claim.”

  There were grunts around the group, but none dared speak. Chief Unaduti had not finished.

  “Fighting between the white man and the Seminole has become so terrible that some of the Seminoles in the Apalachicola River have been persuaded to go west. This is the government’s doing.”

  Now the voices renounced the government as many were no longer able to contain their ire.

  “White devils!”

  “They are devious!”

  “They will get what they want.”

  “But they will pay!”

  “We must make them pay.”

  “The Seminole warriors will not stand by.”

  “There will be war!”

  Gawonii continued to sit and watch his fellow councilmembers, his brothers. He understood their thoughts, their anger. But he could not own it.

  Chief Unaduti held up his hands.

  All voices halted.

  “We cannot control the government or the Seminoles. We can only decide what our course will be.”

  “We must refuse a treaty at all costs!”

  “Never shall we give in!”

  “This is our land, our fathers' lands. We will not give up!”

  “They will never take my land.”

  “Send men to the National Council. They must know what we think!”

  “Yes, Chief Ross must make the right decision for our people!”

  “I have faith in Chief Ross.”

  “I have word.” Chief Unaduti spoke again. As his voice rose, all others ceased.

  “Chief Ross has sent word. It is his desire that we stand our ground.”

  The air was thick. Gawonii sensed many emotions in the silence. Were they those of his brethren? Or his?

  “But there is a growing faction within the Cherokee that would have us sign a treaty.”

  Now the men spoke out again.

  “Traitors!”

  “Let us hunt them down!”

  “They do not speak for the people!”

  “No, the National Council speaks for us.”

  “This is no way to settle anything!” The chief spoke in a boisterous voice. “We must stand together or we will fall. Who here will stand with us and hold firm to our lands?”

  Every hand went up. A few slower than others.

  But Gawonii’s hand shot up. There was renewed confidence in him. But the rushing beat of his heart seemed curious. Invigorated? Or maybe… just maybe… could he be afraid?

  The chief nodded. “Then it is settled.”

  ****

  Thomas stayed at the schoolhouse until the last student packed up. Trusting Adsila with his class had been the right thing. His faith had not been mispl
aced. As she gathered the remaining things from around the classroom, he couldn’t help but watch. Even in the short time he had observed, he saw what a gifted teacher she was.

  How was it that so much about her manner could have changed in the short time he'd known her? From the fire and passion at their first meeting which, unfortunately, had been directed at him in anger. And that anger had lingered between them for quite some time. But something had softened. There were moments he was certain. As when she embraced him before…the memory warmed him to his core. What had changed between them? He was unsure.

  Thank God for the turn. He now saw a different side to her. She wasn’t all flare and fire; she was caring, compassionate, and patient. A woman who loved her people and cared about their well-being. Had that been the source of her passionate anger all along? It certainly laid a foundation for her passionate teaching.

  She gave everything she could to the children.

  That much was obvious.

  He hadn’t been able to do anything but stare as she gave final assessments and assignments to the students as they left minutes ago.

  She was beautiful. Any warm-blooded man could see that.

  But there was something more to her beauty. Something that went beyond what the eye could see. A grace, a peace, a… what? He couldn’t name it. Not yet, anyway. But their earlier embrace haunted him. Why had she done that?

  The last student walked out the door, and Adsila turned to face him.

  Her eyes settled on his. Calm. Serene.

  Had she noticed him staring?

  “I believe, Mr. Greyson, that the class is yours again.”

  He straightened and nodded. “I am sorry to have to take it back. They will miss you.”

  Her lips curved upward. “Don't be. My plants and herbs have gotten the worst of me. They need serious tending.” She turned her head to the side in an exaggerated way. “Besides, I grow tired of these children. So many questions.”

  “Ah.” He chuckled. “If that is the case, I will be all too happy to take them back.”

  “Very well.” She bobbed her head once then looked toward the door. “Shall we?”

  Must their time together come to an end? How could he resist it? Prolong their interaction? Ask her why she threw herself into his arms?

  But he found no reason to linger in the classroom or the courage to face the question he desperately needed an answer to. “We shall.”

  He lengthened his step, sliding past her and reaching for the door. With slow movements, he swung it open, but his eyes were on her as she stepped near to pass through the doorway.

  What would she do if she were to see him transfixed on her features? How would he explain it?

  Pulling his gaze away, he secured the door behind them.

  When he turned, she was grinning at him. “I…”

  “May I walk you home?” This was a boldness he wasn’t sure he understood. Not from himself. For a moment, Worcester’s words of warning rang in his head. He pushed them to the side. There was no sin in his actions.

  She watched him for a moment.

  Could she see his indecision? Or was she caught in her own?

  Then she nodded.

  He joined her at the bottom of the schoolhouse stairs and, when she turned toward the meadow, matched his steps to hers.

  They walked for several minutes in silence until they came to the place where the path separated. Either they would walk by the creek or take the shorter route across the hill.

  “By the creek?” Thomas’s heart thumped louder than he wished, and he held his breath.

  “All right,” she said, her voice almost hesitant.

  Did she not wish to spend more time with him? Had he misunderstood? Was she just being polite? He couldn’t make himself speak as they walked, and sweat trickled between his shoulder blades. Why must this be so difficult?

  He glanced at her, but she watched the ground. As if sensing his eyes, she looked at him. And he smiled at her and turned away. How awkward.

  In minutes, they were by the creek.

  “May we stop for a few moments?” Her tone had become soft.

  “Of course.” His voice broke, and his face heated.

  She turned toward the creek, and he stole another glance at her, watching as she gazed over the bubbling stream.

  She closed her eyes.

  Was he intruding? Was this some sort of private time with her thoughts?

  He closed his eyes. If only he could stop sweating. For certain, his shirt was starting to cling to his back.

  But as he stood and let the stillness of the moment wash over him, he became more aware of the small sounds around the creek—the rush of the stream, the birds in the distance, the sound of water gently flowing over rocks, and the rustling of leaves.

  “I am ready, Thomas, to accept Jesus.”

  His eyes shot open. He had been so tuned in to these small sounds, her voice sounded magnified. Had he heard her correctly? “What did you say?”

  She turned to face him. “I know I need Jesus.”

  He enveloped her in his arms. “Adsila, that is wonderful news!”

  She didn't respond at first, but eventually reached up to place her hands on his shoulders.

  Something stirred in his chest. Something deep. Something powerful. He had to pull away.

  It took everything in him to do so.

  “This will change everything for you. Eternally. You don't know how excited I am!”

  He searched her eyes. The sensations that began in the center of his chest continued to spread. And his body seemed rather heated suddenly. “How… I mean, I know we talked about Jesus, but we never spoke again…”

  She smiled. Was she so unaffected by their closeness?

  “The children. Your students taught me about God. And He… God has been working on my spirit.”

  His mouth broadened, and he found his focus on God. Praise the Lord, somehow he did.

  “Shall we pray together? Right now?”

  She was silent for several seconds.

  Was he pushing? For his own reasons? Oh, God, what was he doing?

  Her sweet voice broke into his thoughts. “Yes. I am ready.”

  “Are you ready to pray for yourself? If you can, I think it's important the words come from you.”

  Her brows furrowed. “I have never prayed like this before.”

  “Prayer is just a conversation with God. The only difference between talking with Him and with me is that you can’t see Him.”

  “Will He talk back?” Her voice shook. Was she so nervous at the thought of an unseen God talking back?

  He tried not to laugh. “Sometimes.”

  “It might scare me if He does,” she said, her eyes widening.

  “Trust me, it won't. It will fill you with love and peace.”

  She nodded. Did she trust him so much? It filled him with emotions that confused him. And a pride that probably shouldn’t be his.

  He drew in a breath and let it out. He could do this. He could. “All right, let us open the prayer to God, the Father. And we are in confession, which basically means we agree with God about our sin, and that we need forgiveness.” He tilted his head forward and closed his eyes.

  She started speaking, her words slow and almost cautious. “God the Father, I agree with You that there are things in my life that are not good. In fact, they are bad. They are sinful. I am sorry for these things, and I need Your forgiveness.”

  “We receive forgiveness through Christ's blood shed on the cross, remember?” He kept his words soft.

  She nodded even though her eyes were closed.

  Still, he couldn’t help but admire her features as she prayed. Father, help me.

  “God, I accept Christ's blood for my sins. I believe He died on the cross for my sins.”

  He focused with all he had on God and how important this prayer was. “The Bible tells us in Romans that if we confess the Lord our God and believe in our hearts that God raised Jesus f
rom the dead, we shall be saved.” And he forced his eyes to remain closed. God, keep me.

  “God, I confess Jesus as Lord. And I believe You raised Jesus from the dead for my salvation. I accept Jesus as Savior. I thank you for saving me. I thank you for forgiveness. I thank you for grace. I thank you for Jesus.”

  When he opened his eyes, she still had her eyes closed. They soon opened. She looked up at him and smiled, tears glistening.

  He reached out to brush them away and was overcome with the urge to brush his lips against hers.

  Not now. Not yet. Not in such a spiritually charged moment.

  Had he not been warned that a single man should not pray alone with a single woman?

  “Praise God,” he said softly. Perhaps it was only because his heart was so full of praise. Or perhaps it was to pull his mind off her lips.

  Her eyes danced in the ever-waning sunlight.

  Waning sunlight? The sun had started to go down. Surely her parents would begin to worry after her.

  “It's getting late. We best get you home.” He drew his hands back.

  She nodded.

  They walked toward her home and spoke a little of spiritual things along the way.

  She did not bombard him with questions, for which he was thankful. Concentrating around her proved problematic.

  As they neared her home, she slowed and turned to face him once more. “This is where we should part.”

  He nodded. Why couldn’t he walk her all the way home? But he respected her enough to say farewell as she wished. As she shifted to face him, his heartbeat thudded in his chest.

  Loud.

  Too loud.

  She had come to mean so much to him. Did she feel the same?

  She moved closer, taking one of his hands in hers.

  Now his pulse thundered in his ears—a call to boldness. He pulled her hand to close the distance between them.

  The warmth in his core turned molten.

  Drawing her face to his, he planted a gentle kiss on her lips.

  She responded to him immediately, pulling him deeper into their embrace.

  Still, he dare not let the kiss continue for long. He had not lost his senses completely. No, it was best not to linger in that dangerous position.

  Yes, a few moments longer and he would be lost to her.

  CHAPTER FIVE