Trail 0f Fears (Native American Heritage)

by Sara R. Turnquist

  Buckner made a gallant effort to push down his excitement, but it was written on his face.

  Ross and Ridge moved to the desk and looked to the document.

  “Five million dollars?” Ross exclaimed. “That doesn't add much to the previous offer.”

  “See here,” Ridge argued, pointing to something in the wording. “They added another half million for educational funds. And we're getting official title to the lands west of the Mississippi River.” His eyes bored into his counterpart.

  Even Frelinghuysen could sense the intensity of that gaze.

  Ross stared at him, mouth agape. “How can you think this a fair agreement?”

  “And how can you be willing to sacrifice lives? You want to stay and fight? This is the best we're going to get. Mark my words, after this, it will be forcible removal. Is that what you want?”

  “You know it's not.” Ross spoke sternly.

  “Then what are you after?” Ridge asked, throwing his arms up.

  “I want my people, our people, to be treated fairly. Just as any nation would be. That's what the Supreme Court says and that is, in fact, what is laid out in the Indian Removal Act. It does not allow for forcible removals.”

  Ridge leaned toward Ross. “That has not stopped President Jackson from forcing the Creeks west,” he whispered harshly. “Think of our people. Think of their lives. We can make a new life. We can survive. And we'll have a chance with this money.”

  Ross was silent.

  “And what of these other Cherokee that agreed to these terms?” Ridge slapped a hand against the signed portion of the document. “They represent the will of the people.”

  Ross looked over the signatures. “No, they don't. These are all from your Pro-Treaty Council. That is not a fair measure of the will of the Cherokee!”

  “Listen to me,” Ridge pleaded.

  “No!” Ross moved a hand to shove the paper away as he moved back from the desk. “I will not sign it.”

  The room was quiet. One could measure the breaths each man took.

  Ridge broke the silence. “Well, if you won't. I will!”

  Ross glared at him, eyes hard. “You have no more authority to speak for the Cherokee Nation than the names on that paper!”

  Ridge took up a pen and signed his name at the bottom. He looked at Mr. Parsons. “There's my signature for whatever it's worth.”

  Ross's eyes narrowed. “Traitor! You're all traitors, and you will be dealt with accordingly.”

  “Perhaps it is you who are the traitor. I am thinking of our people's best interest.”

  “But you have no authority. The Cherokee have entrusted me to look out for them, and that is what I intend to do. Excuse me, Senator Frelinghuysen, Mr. Buckner,” Ross said, nodding. “But this room has just become a little too stifling.”

  With that, he took his leave of them.

  Frelinghuysen looked after him with a heavy heart. What was right for the Cherokee people? He did not know. But fighting amongst themselves was certainly not it.

  ****

  Spring was in the air. Life was new. The days were longer and brighter, but not everyone relished the feeling of the bright sun or the colorful blanket of flowers stretched out on the earth. For all was not well. The Council members trudged home to their families with hard news.

  Gawonii's steps were slow as they moved up the path to his home.

  As he neared his family’s cabin, he stopped and looked over his farmland and homestead. This place. This land. How long had his father’s fathers kept it? Would not the very concept of owning the earth or any part of it seem strange… foreign even, to those men of another time?

  Bending forward, he grabbed a handful of the loose dirt. He held it for a few seconds, letting the warmth of the soil and the grittiness of it fill his senses. Spreading his fingers, he then watched as the deep brown specks escaped.

  How fitting.

  For that was exactly what was to happen.

  Their land, this piece of earth they had known for generations as home… would soon be lost to them.

  Must he be the bearer of such tidings? See the downcast faces of his family as they came to realize what it meant? If only he could take an arrow for them. Die as a brave warrior defending his people. But that option had not been presented.

  He forced his feet to move again, marking his way toward the cabin. Toward this conversation he would wish away if there were any other way.

  Yet he would not run from his responsibility. The chief had spoken, and Gawonii would respect the decision of those chosen to shoulder such a heavy burden.

  Stepping inside, he remembered what the small cabin represented—the home they had carefully built and made into a comfortable place for their small family when the tribe had given up living in tents. It was the only home Tsiyi had ever known. What would become of it? Of them?

  Inola stood by the stove, busying herself with dinner. She had always been a good wife. Steady as the river’s current and sure as the sun each morning.

  Adsila sat at the family’s table near Tsiyi. Did they talk of schoolwork? The world as they knew it was whole and perfect as of yet. But he would shatter that.

  Looking up from Tsiyi's work, Adsila noticed him first and smiled.

  Such innocence. She’d had her suspicions, but they had quieted.

  He struggled to force the corners of his mouth upward and, in the end, failed. Then he felt Inola’s eyes. Turning toward her, he managed a small smile after great effort.

  It did not wipe the concern from her face.

  As he walked to the table and placed a hand on Adsila's shoulder, he raised an arm to Inola and curved his hand.

  She dropped her spoon and crossed to him. Her eyes glistened. Could she guess what news he brought?

  Wrapping an arm around her, he drew her closer. The feel of his wife in his arms gave him great comfort and strength. That he needed greatly.

  “Father, what has happened?” Adsila’s voice shook.

  “Tsiyi, you need to—” Inola spoke, her tone uneven.

  “No,” Gawonii said. “This time, Tsiyi stays.”

  Inola fell into her chair, a small whimper escaping.

  Gawonii sat beside her, taking her hand in his. Could he give her the same measure of unspoken support she had given him? He searched her eyes.

  They were sorrowful.

  She knew.

  He swallowed hard, keeping his features set. A brave face for his children. Turning toward Adsila and Tsiyi, he spoke. “The Treaty of New Echota has been ratified by Congress.”

  Inola wailed. Then the tears came.

  “I… I don't understand.” Adsila appeared as stunned as she sounded. Her eyes were wide and her mouth had fallen agape. “Chief Ross and the National Council told Congress it was a fraud. That it did not represent the will of the Cherokee people.”

  Gawonii shrugged. How could he speak truth and show respect? Did he owe them any? No longer. They were no longer an authority in his eyes. If they did not concern themselves with the truth, he would not concern himself with how his children viewed them. “They do not care.”

  “But how…” Adsila’s body shook and tears welled. “How can this be?”

  She truly was so innocent.

  “Because they make the laws,” Gawonii said evenly.

  “What is the Treaty of New Echota, Father? Why is Mother crying?” Tsiyi appeared frightened. He had not been party to any of the goings on. Had he not even heard mention of it at all?

  There would be no sense in softening the reality of it. Not with what Tsiyi would face in the coming days and months. He must be prepared for the harshness of it now. “It means we, the Cherokee, are agreeing to leave our home.”

  “But I don't want to leave. Where will we go?” Tsiyi's voice broke.

  “I know, my son.” Gawonii place a hand on his shoulder. “But we have no choice. They say we must go west of the Mississippi. Some Cherokee want to stay and fight.”

  �
�Will we fight, Father?” Tsiyi blinked several times. Did he struggle with his tears? Not wish to show them? Trying to be strong even now? “What about Mother? Adsila? Will they fight, too?” His voice broke with the last sentence. Perhaps he did not like the idea of his mother and sister fighting.

  Gawonii held his response for several seconds. He did not wish to admit defeat, but he did not want to give them hope where none existed. He didn't want his wife and children to fight, to face the sword of a soldier. But he didn't wish to go west either. Either way, it was best his family have a better idea of what it came down to. “I don't know.”

  “Those may not be our only choices.” Adsila’s voice strengthened.

  Gawonii and Inola jerked their heads in her direction.

  What could she mean?

  “What do you speak of?” Gawonii’s brows rose. Was there hope?

  “Thomas… Mr. Greyson has offered to take the four of us to his parent's home in North Carolina. Just until we figure out what to do.” The words rushed out of her. “It would be safe there. No fighting. No one looking for us.”

  Gawonii looked at his wife for several moments. Was she wondering as he was? Why the offer for just their family? Why not others? Had more occurred between his daughter and the missionary than he knew? He was not blind to their close friendship or even to their budding attraction. But he did not think it had developed beyond that.

  Tsiyi opened his mouth.

  For certain what he would say would venture into conversation best left alone for now.

  “We must take all things into consideration,” Gawonii said. “Now, no more talk of this. We must turn our minds to more pleasant things. Like what Mother has made for supper.”

  Adsila and Tsiyi were obedient despite their obviously troubled hearts. They nodded and cleared the table.

  Inola moved back to the stove.

  And Gawonii watched them. His heart still heavy for his little family and the decisions they would have to make. But perhaps for at least for one more night, they could just enjoy being together at this table.

  ****

  Walter Buckner locked the door to the senator’s offices. Heaving a sigh, he made his way down the long hall that would take him out of the building. The days passed slowly, but the weeks seemed to go by so quickly. Had it been six years since the Indian Removal Act passed?

  He shook his head. That couldn't be right.

  But it was. Six long years.

  Everyone else had moved on long ago.

  Yet he still clung to some shred of hope for the remaining Indian groups—hope that they would be treated fairly, that their removals would not be so tragic.

  But then war had broken out with the Seminoles, and there came dissension within the Cherokee tribe. Dissension that President Jackson would certainly take advantage of.

  Stepping into the temperate evening air, Walter was nearly blindsided by a man rushing out of the shadows. Immediately on guard, he stepped one foot back, bracing himself. Then he put up his arms to shield his face.

  “What's wrong, Walter?” a familiar voice said. “Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to jump out at you like that.”

  Walter let his arms fall and found himself looking into the face of Harry Corbell. “Jeez, Harry, cut a guy a break! I thought you were… well, never mind. What do you want?”

  “I've only been waiting out here an hour to tell you that Senator Jamison has a space on his staff.” Harry beamed. “And I recommended you.”

  Walter gave him a sideways look. “But I already have a job.”

  “Come on, Walter, you can't be serious! Look at what's happening. It's time to jump ship while you still can.”

  “I don't know what you mean.” Walter started moving down the sidewalk again.

  Harry kept step with him. “This obsession with the Indians has got to stop.”

  Walter tossed him a stern look.

  Harry slowed a little. “Okay. Let's say you care. That's great. But it's a lost cause! Even you must see that. The Seminoles will soon be overpowered, the Cherokee are on the move…”

  “The Cherokee are what?”

  “Well, some of the Cherokee are on the move. The rest will be soon.”

  Walter stopped. He understood then. The faction of the Cherokee nation that supported the treaty had left. The rest would stand their ground.

  He hung his head. It would mean more lives lost.

  “So?” Harry said, raising his hands, palms up.

  “So… what?” Walter looked back toward his friend.

  “Do you want the job or not?” Harry dropped his hands to his side, and his voice went flat.

  “No,” Walter said, distracted.

  “Fine.” Harry waved him off and started walking again.

  “Why do you care so much anyway?” Walter called after him.

  Harry turned. “What do you mean?”

  “About me. Why do you care so much?”

  Harry shrugged. “I think you're a good guy. And I think you're being led down the wrong path. I'm just trying to help.”

  Walter was silent for a moment. “Thank you. I mean it. I appreciate your consideration. But I have to be able to live with myself, whether I have a political career in five years or not.”

  “Five years? Try one!” With that, Harry turned and walked off.

  ****

  Thomas stepped onto the same train station platform he had so many times before. Most recently with his brother. This time was different. So vastly different. For now, he ushered his beloved Adsila and her family to safety.

  He had not anticipated how many new experiences there would be for them on the journey. First, there was the novelty of the wagon ride and then the train. Lord of all that is good, the train. It had frightened Tsiyi, but he had been brave. His wide eyes peered about him as his white knuckles clung to his mother's dress. Adsila sat perhaps a little too close to Thomas.

  He felt alive and nervous at the same time. And he wanted to draw her even closer. Her parents’ constant watch gave him pause. No, he did not wish to risk deepening her parents’ curiosity as it was.

  A part of him wondered what would be so bad about them knowing. There was nothing impure or inappropriate about anything he and Adsila were doing. Still, Adsila resisted letting them know just how connected she and Thomas had become.

  But now they had arrived in Charlotte, and he would have to decide what he wished his parents to know. He had considered the question and had not come to peace with an answer.

  Raising a hand, Thomas helped Adsila, then Inola off the train steps. Gawonii helped Tsiyi down, lifting him easily. They had dressed in their best clothes for the journey. But what they had to offer was far less than what would be expected in society here.

  People were definitely staring. Was it because of their attire? Or because of their ethnicity? Thomas couldn’t say. Perhaps for both reasons. Had the people here ever seen an Indian in person? From the open mouth stares they received, he doubted it.

  How much of this was Adsila sensitive to? Did she notice? Did she care?

  He glanced toward her.

  Her eyes were downcast. She glanced up every now and again to see the horrified stares and quickly looked back down again. Was she offended? Hurt?

  Drawing closer to her, closer than he probably should, he whispered, “Don’t let it bother you.”

  She peered up at him. Her eyes displayed her disbelief.

  “You are not the problem. They are.”

  She turned her face so he couldn’t see her features.

  He looked across the way. Her parents were taking it all in as well.

  Drawing even closer to Adsila, he lowered his voice. “You are perfect in God’s eyes. Lacking nothing.”

  Her chin lifted, and her eyes caught his.

  “And so you are to me.”

  Gaze glistening, she raised her face even more. Her lips parted, but she did not speak. As her attention cut to her parents, she took a step back from him, but looked
into his eyes once more.

  His heart thundered in his chest. How was it that she could always do that to him with just a look?

  Gawonii, Inola, and Tsiyi stepped to where Thomas and Adsila were. Thomas indicated that they should step farther away from the train then he strained his eyes, seeking out his own parents. Where were they?

  And so, their travel-weary group stood in the middle of the train platform as he hunted for any sign of his mother and father. Not helping the spectacle they appeared to be making.

  At last, he spotted them.

  They stood off to the side, as if hesitant about the whole affair. Were they, too, affected by the reactions of the people around them? Or did they share in the trepidations of the society folks?

  Their son was a missionary. Certainly they did not harbor such prejudices. Waving, Thomas motioned them over.

  At length, they did move in his direction. What held them back?

  As they neared, Thomas stepped forward and enveloped his mother. “It is so good to see you!”

  She hugged him back with some stiffness. “And you, darling. Welcome home.”

  As Thomas pulled back from the awkward embrace, he moved toward his father, who only nodded.

  “Welcome home, son.”

  “Thank you.”

  A silence fell between them.

  “I suppose these are your guests?” Mother looked at Adsila’s family.

  “Yes.” Thomas moved closer to them. “My friends.” He made quick introductions around the group.

  Father put his hand forth and shook Gawonii's then Inola's hand.

  Mother followed suit.

  The whole thing seemed rather awkward, and an uneasy feeling settled in Thomas's stomach.

  “We thank you,” Gawonii said. “For hospitality.”

  Father's face was a blank.

  “Of course,” Mother responded, her voice tentative as she spoke. “We are glad you have come to stay with us.”

  There was silence again.

  “Perhaps we should make our way to the carriages?” Father suggested.

  “Yes,” Mother agreed, turning toward Gawonii and Inola. “It will be a short ride to the house.” Then, with nothing further, his parents moved off.

  “Please.” Thomas indicated the direction his parents went. “This way.”