Trail 0f Fears (Native American Heritage)

by Sara R. Turnquist

  He nodded. But how? It wouldn’t be possible. Not without her.

  “And I… I…” She gasped for breath.

  It would not come.

  He pulled her more tightly to himself, hugging her body against his.

  But he could not hold back the loud mourning cries as he held his wife. In a matter of moments, her journey came to its end.

  ****

  Walter kicked off his shoes and flung them across the room.

  That was that.

  Frelinghuysen was done with Washington, D.C.

  Just as well! So was he. He’d had his fill of Washington politics. A lot of difference he’d made when it really mattered.

  He scanned his small apartment—an eclectic collection of random things he had picked up along the way. Things from his childhood and on through the years.

  Home.

  Should he go back home? Not that anyone there cared much for his opinion on anything. He couldn't make a difference there.

  That was the root of it—he wanted to make a difference. But where? How? He still cared about what happened to the Indians, but their fate was sealed. Or was it?

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and fell back across his bed. Great. A headache was the last thing he needed.

  He pulled his hand away from his face and stared at the ceiling. What was it Frelinghuysen had said? About God? About prayer? Could it be true? Could the same God that created everything truly care about what happened to him? It seemed like a nice idea, but not something he was ready to put stock in.

  “Are you there, God?”

  Nothing.

  Just as I thought.

  Sighing, he got up and walked across the room to pick up his shoes. One of the shoes had knocked into a side table and caused a book to fall. He picked it up. Rubbing a hand across the cover, he saw it was the Bible Senator Frelinghuysen had given him. One of the pages had become crumpled when it fell.

  He opened it to smooth out the page. His eyes caught the words at the top: “‘For I know the plans that I have for you,’ declares the Lord, ‘Plans for welfare and not for calamity to give you a future and a hope.’”

  Plans. God has plans for me? What plans does He have? Plans I can get excited about? Or plans to be a missionary in Africa?

  He walked the Bible to his chair and sat, looking over the page. Dare he read further?

  “You will seek Me and find Me when you search for Me with all your heart.”

  There it was again—prayer.

  Frelinghuysen had talked about how important it was. They had even prayed together. But it hadn’t changed anything. Walter still felt lost. Useless. All his efforts had been wasted. Still, he turned the Bible over in his hands, loving the leather of the binding.

  Could this book be more than it seemed?

  ****

  Adsila placed her feet on firm ground. The steamer trip had not been pleasant. Her body might have ached from walking, but it had wrenched and churned from the movement of the boat.

  No, the trip, though short, had seemed an eternity to her stomach.

  Thomas had been helpless to do anything to comfort her, as he held onto the orphaned child.

  It had been fortunate a second steamer came along soon after the first departed. Their chances were much improved.

  Now on the other side of the river, she searched the crowd for Father and Tsiyi. But the moving bodies blurred together, and she could not make them out. Perhaps they had moved on.

  A hand pressed her shoulder and she turned.

  Thomas. An unspoken question in his eyes. Had he, too, been searching for Father and Tsiyi?

  She shook her head and he frowned.

  “We will have to keep moving,” he said, adjusting the child on his hip. “We will come across them along the way.” He seemed confident, but she knew he was just as worried as she.

  They all needed to be together, to look after one another, to keep each other safe. But there was nothing more they could do here. So, she conceded, falling in step with the rest of her people as they moved ever forward toward their promised destination.

  Thomas had the little girl walk at times, but mostly he carried her. At first, she was closed to them, but as the day wore on, she exchanged smiles. Particularly with Thomas. And she shared her name—Salali.

  When they stopped for evening rations, it was not a moment too soon. Adsila became more and more certain that her feet would fall off, and the temperature had already started to drop. The day had been cold, but the night promised to be every bit as frozen as any other night on this dreadful trail—downright frigid. Without the others for added warmth, what would she and Thomas do?

  Would she and Thomas lie side by side? There didn’t seem to be any other option.

  As she and Salali finished their rations, Thomas began clearing the snow near a tree. She did notice that he cleared only one space. Perhaps he did intend for them all to lie together.

  She watched him, a tingling sensation running through her limbs. From the cold?

  He met her gaze and offered a small smile before resuming his work.

  She turned away but could not turn her thoughts. What would it be like in a position so intimate with Thomas? There, of course, would be nothing inappropriate. Not in the cold, surrounded by so many, and he such a gentleman.

  Still, it did make her wonder.

  She yawned. As did Salali.

  Thomas’s hand appeared in front of her face. “The place is as ready as it will be.”

  Following the outstretched hand all the way to his eyes, a slight warmth crept into her face.

  Would he notice? Hopefully not!

  She slid a hand into his and let him pull her to her feet. He then leaned over and gathered the child into his arms.

  How had Adsila not noticed that Salali had started to drift into sleep?

  Thomas strode toward the place he prepared. Once there, he laid Salali on the cleared spot, but Adsila remained rooted where she was.

  Thomas seemed surprised that she had not followed him. Lifting an arm toward her, he beckoned her.

  She encouraged her feet to move, but they wouldn’t.

  He looked down at Salali and then to Adsila. Was he attempting to make a choice?

  It had not been her intention to put him in such a position. She forced her feet to move once more.

  His brows furrowed; his features spoke of his concern as she approached. He held out his hands for hers.

  Should she place herself in his care? He had never given her reason not to trust him. So she did, putting her hands in his.

  “Is something wrong?” Thomas’s eyes softened.

  “I find myself… uneasy… about this.” She shivered. Because of the breeze or because of this conversation?

  His eyes moved over her face like a caress. “If there was any other way…”

  “I know.”

  “It is not my intention to take advantage of the situation—”

  She put a hand on his chest to stop him. “I do know that. It’s just… a lot.”

  He nodded.

  They stood watching each other for a moment.

  “How about you sleep with Salali, and I’ll be nearby against the tree. I don’t want to be far—”

  “No… It’s all right. I think you are right. Neither Salali nor I will be able to keep the other warm enough. Not as much as if we all three…” Her sentence trailed off as she stared into his eyes.

  He wrapped his arms around her. “You can trust me,” he said into her ear.

  “I never doubted that.”

  And so, they lay on either side of Salali, keeping the small girl between them to provide her the greatest warmth.

  As the minutes stretched into hours, Adsila continued to lie awake, staring at the sky. She comforted herself with the deep, rhythmic breathing of the two sleeping beside her.

  Still, she kept her face toward the stars. Was Mother up there somewhere? What had Mother’s faith brought her? Contentment
in some afterlife? Peace in death?

  A death that should have been prevented?

  How long Adsila lay there, considering these things, she did not know, but after some time, Thomas’s breathing shifted. Had he awakened?

  His hand covered her shoulder. “Adsila?”

  “Um hm?” She did not turn toward him, but fixed her gaze on the sky.

  “What are you thinking about?” His voice was deep, but soft.

  “Many things.” A tear escaped her eye.

  “Thinking about your mother?”

  She closed her eyes to keep more tears at bay. “I think of many things,” she repeated.

  “Please, tell me.” His fingertips grazed her cheek. His touch was so gentle on her face, as if he sought to soothe her features as much as his voice sought to soothe her aching soul.

  “I do think of Mother. But I also think about Father and Tsiyi—where they are, how they are doing. Are they safe? Are they well? I think about how we're going to survive.

  “I think about Salali. She's an orphan now. She has no one. What will become of her?

  “I think of my people. What will become of us? We are all much like Salali—orphaned, homeless.”

  She sniffled.

  “The government says we have a new home. But will we be safe there? Or will they take this home away from us, too? Nothing can be for certain.”

  She turned toward Thomas.

  His features displayed his concern.

  “There is great turmoil in me, Thomas.” She sighed. “And I wonder… where is God?” More tears fell. “Where is your God in all this?”

  He didn’t speak for several moments. Was he searching for the right words?

  Her sadness was a deep ache in her chest now, and her body shook as tears came.

  Thomas’s breathing became ragged. Was he so moved?

  She pierced him with her gaze, letting her anger cover her grief. It was safer. “Where is He? I trusted Him. I believed in Him. And He took my mother.”

  Thomas took a deep breath. “There are no good words for times like this. But God does not promise us tomorrow. Or a safe life. Or even a pleasant one. The one thing He does promise is that He will be with us. And I believe He is.”

  Adsila frowned. “Where? Where is He?” The anger grew, taking on a new form. “In this child's tears? Is that where He is? In all this death? Is that where you see Him? Where do you see Him, Thomas? Because I cannot.”

  Thomas became quiet, and she turned away. It wasn't fair to make him bear the brunt of her anger. Hadn't he been through the same nightmare she had? How could he not share her doubts? Whether or not he realized it, he didn't have the answers.

  ****

  This winter would never end. What was the date? The days drudged by on this horrid trail, and there didn’t seem to be much use in keeping track of them.

  Richard Clement grumbled and took a swig of his now chilled coffee. It was impossible to keep anything warm for any length of time. But at least he was slightly better off than the Indians. They dropped like flies! Sickness and the elements took their toll on the Cherokee.

  At first it had bothered him, all the deaths. But now, it had become almost common. He’d been numbed to it all.

  Private Burnett stepped out of his tent, stretched, and shivered in one fluid movement.

  “Harsh morning?” Richard almost smiled.

  Burnett nodded, shaking.

  Richard handed him a cup of cold coffee.

  The private felt the mug and frowned.

  Richard shrugged and turned his attention to cleaning his rifle.

  “Wonder how many deaths we had last night,” Burnett mused.

  Richard grunted. It was a wonder that Burnett still cared. But he was young. This took its toll on him in a very different way.

  Burnett sat and crossed his arms. An attempt to conserve heat? Laughable. He pulled his jacket tighter around himself. Marginal.

  “Guess this is a Christmas Eve we'll never forget.” Burnett took a sip.

  “Christmas Eve?” Could it be?

  Perhaps the Cherokee deaths weren’t the only thing Burnett kept track of. Everyone else had stopped counting the calendar days, too.

  “Yep.” Burnett looked off into the distance.

  Richard thought on it for a moment. What would his family’s day be like?

  This holiday was all about family at his home. He should be with them, not out here in this wretched wasteland escorting Indians. Who knew if there would be any of them left to inhabit the land they were promised? Whenever that was.

  What would his family think of what he had done? He prayed they would never know.

  “I wonder if they'll give the Indians a reprieve from walking tomorrow,” Burnett said.

  “Doubt it.” When did he become so apathetic?

  Burnett’s gaze rested on him, but he didn't speak.

  Just as well. I'm not in the mood for any handholding.

  ****

  Knock, knock, knock.

  What was that sound?

  Walter pulled himself out of bed. Hadn’t he heard something?

  Knock, knock, knock.

  The door. Someone was at the door.

  He glanced down at his rumpled clothing. He hadn’t even bothered to change before falling into bed last night. Quite a sight. The last couple of days had been full. Long nights and late mornings did not help. For certain he could benefit from a shower.

  Would they go away?

  The knocking continued.

  He sauntered toward the door, praying it was nothing more than the neighbor or the some other such nuisance.

  But as he pulled the door back, he found himself face-to-face with Senator Frelinghuysen. Immaculately dressed, as always, with top hat and coat in place.

  They would stand in stark contrast to one another if any were unfortunate enough to see them, with Walter appearing a mess of untucked clothes, haggard hair, and unshaven face.

  Frelinghuysen's eyebrows shot up.

  Not that Walter needed the reaction to feel shamed.

  “C-Come in, sir,” Walter said. If it wasn’t bad enough, his words were slurred. How deeply had he been sleeping?

  He waved his boss in as he stumbled backward into his apartment.

  “Good gracious, Mr. Buckner,” Frelinghuysen said, taking off his hat and stepping through the doorway. “Have you been drinking?”

  Walter’s face heated. “No, sir. I… was up late. Praying. I only now awoke. Forgive me,” he said, pressing a hand to his forehead. “I think I’m still half-asleep.”

  “Praying?” The senator seemed truly shocked. Perhaps more so than if Walter had said he intended to join the circus.

  Walter nodded. “Yes, sir. And reading.”

  “Reading?” The man’s eyes were still wide. Was he so disbelieving?

  Thoughts began to cut though the fog of his sleep-soaked brain. He smiled and shook his head as he moved farther into the apartment. “Are you just repeating me?”

  “No… that is, not intentionally,” the senator stumbled over his words. Did he still not believe Walter?

  Now in the small space Walter called his great room, he motioned for the senator to sit on an old armchair, while Walter pulled a dining chair over.

  The senator eased into the seat, still watching Walter as if he waited for something. An explanation perhaps?

  Silence fell in the space.

  “Can I get you anything, sir? Coffee? Tea?” Walter started to rise.

  “No, I thank you.” Frelinghuysen held out a hand. “I am intrigued to hear more about this… Bible reading.”

  So that was it. He was cautiously reserving judgment.

  “Yes.” Walter settled back down. “I sort of found myself picking up the Bible the other night, truly for the first time, and was quite unable to stop.”

  Frelinghuysen nodded and cleared his throat. “And…” His words came slowly. “What have you discovered?”

  Was this yet anot
her question to determine the truthfulness of his claim? Walter pushed that thought to the side. This wasn’t about the senator. How could he put it into words? Everything that came to mind seemed inadequate.

  He needed to say what was on his heart.

  Taking a deep breath and letting it out, he hoped his gaze spoke to his confidence. “I found a God I never knew—a God who cares about me, Who is intentional, and Who has a plan.”

  Frelinghuysen leaned back. He seemed thoughtful.

  “Even a plan in all this mess.”

  One of the senator’s brows arched.

  “It's been hard to see that. Still is, I think. But that's where faith comes in—real faith. Those times when belief becomes… challenging.”

  Frelinghuysen nodded. And… could it be? Smiled?

  “Seems as if you have something.”

  “I tell you, sir, I've experienced so much… freedom in the last couple of days, as I've come to know God.”

  “I know quite well what you mean.” Frelinghuysen’s smile broadened.

  Then there was that silence between them.

  “Did you… I mean, was there something you needed, sir?” Walter gripped the arms of the chair. Otherwise he might slump. And that may find him soon off to sleep. He had only stopped reading for rest perhaps three hours ago.

  “Yes.” Frelinghuysen straightened, shifting his hat to his other knee. “I have come to admire a lot of things about you, Mr. Buckner. You have good work ethic. But it’s more than that. You have principles. And passion. You care about the people who rely on you, who count on you to speak for them.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “And I hoped you would consider coming with me to New Jersey. I need men like you on my team—running my campaign and, eventually, my staff.”

  Walter feared he wouldn’t be able to speak. Such high compliments from a man whose opinion he valued. But, as he needed them, the words came.

  “I… I'm honored by your words. And that you would think of me.”

  The senator’s eyes brightened. “So, that’s a yes?”

  Walter paused. If he had learned anything from his reading, it had been that moves like this required prayer. He shot Frelinghuysen one of his half grins, hopefully a charming look. “I'll have to give it some prayerful consideration.”

  The smile that marked the senator’s face was the first truly happy expression Walter thought he had ever seen on the man.