Epilogue
Dearest Mother and Father,
I hope this letter finds you well. I apologize that I haven't written in some time. Your letter arrived well enough. I cannot imagine what Emma will do with another baby in the house, but I am certain, Mother, that you are excited. Please, tell Emma that I, too, hate she missed our wedding. If only it had been possible for us to have all been together.
The village continues to grow strong. Truly, the Cherokee are an independent and hard-working people. We started classes again. There isn’t a schoolhouse yet, so we meet near the stream, but the children are happy to learn, and I am happy to teach them.
Tsiyi decided he would like to take up teaching, so I am training him as well. Hopefully, he will be able to take a class of younger students soon. There is a great need for teachers.
And Emma is not the only one with good news. Adsila and I are expecting a little brave next spring. We are so excited, but I must confess I am also nervous. Adsila is radiant. She has a special glow about her. Salali could not be more excited about a baby brother or sister.
I cannot say enough how much your support has come to mean to me. I know it is not easy, and there are many, if not all of your friends and connections, that do not understand or accept my new life. On that count, your approval means everything. I look forward to hearing from you soon.
Your loving son,
Thomas
I'm a coffee lovin', word slinging, Historical Romance author who's super power is converting caffeine into novels. I love those odd little tidbits of history that are stranger than fiction. That's what inspires me. Well, that and a good love story.
But of all the love stories I have read, I am living my favorite. I live happily with my own Prince Charming and our gaggle of minions. Three to be exact. They sure know how to distract a writer! But, alas, the stories must be written, even if it must happen in the wee hours of the morning.
Happy Reading!
Acknowledgements
This has, by far, been the most difficult novel I have ever written. The research was tough, and walking through the suffering in some small way was really difficult. Knowing that the Cherokee and these other Native American groups suffered these things and much more…was hard. And this question: where is God when things don’t make sense? It’s still a challenging question. One not easily answered.
But, at the end of today, as I am putting this book together to go out into the world, there are many people who made this work possible. And I cannot begin to name everyone who has encouraged my career and prayed over me! You are all truly appreciated. I am so blessed.
First, my editor, Julie Sherwood. Thank you for making my work stronger and keeping me on my game. You make everything that much more polished. And still keep the heart of my books intact.
Cora Graphics, you continue to put out such amazing work. Consistently. There is no end to your talent.
The photographer who makes me look good, VerBull Photography, I know I’m taking full advantage of your skills.
The Clarksville Christian Writers, my critique group, you support me and spur me on more than you know!
My Beta Readers and Turnquist’s Troupe…you all encourage me and provide such valuable feedback.
My husband and children, you help me push through when the going gets tough.
For Rachel, you keep me honest. For my dad, knowing you are proud of me fills me with joy.
For my mom, I will love you forever.
For my Lord, You are everything.
Last, but certainly not least, my readers, you give me every reason to keep writing.
If you found yourself caught up in this retelling of the Trail of Tears, please feel free to leave an honest reveiw on Amazon or Goodreads.
And, check out these other works from
Sara R. Turnquist:
The Lady Bornekova
The Lady and the Hussites
The General’s Wife
Off to War
Hope in Cripple Creek
Leaving Waverly, a novella
A Convenient Risk
An Inconvenient Christmas
Also from Sara R. Turnquist
CHAPTER ONE
Beginnings and Endings
Amanda stared at the blood on her hands. Her husband’s blood. She was numb. Cried out. She shoved the door open with her hip and stepped into the fading day. Her focus was on the water pump across the yard. The few steps stretched out before her. Holding her hands away from her body, she moved toward it, not caring that she stirred the dust of the dry earth beneath her feet as she walked.
The pump’s handle was solid and cold. She yanked her hand away. Jed’s blood now stained the metal. It couldn’t be helped. Grasping the handle once more, she pulled it up then pressed down. Her long blonde hair fell into her face. Amanda fought the urge to push it to the side. Again and again she pumped, until water began to flow from the spout. Thrusting her hands underneath, she rubbed at the dark red covering her skin.
Once all traces were gone, she tugged at her apron, wrapping her hands in the thin fabric. When she looked at them again, they shook. And she could still see the deep crimson upon them. She blinked. The red vanished.
Spinning on the balls of her feet, she turned back toward the house. The clicking of her shoes alerted her that she was once again inside the house. And the smell.
“Where were you?” A gruff voice greeted her.
She jerked in that direction.
The tall frame of the doctor filled the doorway to her bedroom. His scowl accused her.
“I needed some fresh air.”
He shook his head. Had she disappointed him? “You are needed in here.”
She nodded, lowering her gaze to the floor as she stepped toward him.
He held up his hands. “There’s no point now. He’s passed.”
“What?” It wasn’t possible.
The doctor moved past her, his shoulder grazing hers. “It was only a matter of time.”
Amanda’s heart stopped. Cold surrounded and pervaded her being. Her breath rushed out of her. Would she be able to draw in another? In time, it did come, but with it came the tears. There were more. After all.
****
Brandon Miller pushed the gate closed and secured it. Gazing out across the cattle, he frowned. Would his efforts be enough? He doubted it. All the wishing in the world would not pay the bank.
Shoving away from the fence, he turned toward the homestead. Time for lunch.
He slipped into the house and spotted his uncle hobbling across the room. Rushing over, he put an arm under the old man’s bad side. “Uncle Owen, you should have called Cook to help.”
“She’s busy getting things ready for you and the boys. I couldn’t bother her. ‘Sides, I get around just fine.”
Brandon shook his head. The man leaned even more on his nephew. His body was worn. Too many years abusing it. If he took another fall…Brandon would rather not think about it.
They reached the dining table at last, and Brandon shifted his uncle’s weight into one of the chairs.
Uncle Owen let out a sigh. Surely the man could not deny that it was becoming more difficult for him to get around the house.
The front door opened, and Brandon’s ranch hands trailed in, dirty and dusty as ever. They were a misfit group indeed.
“Whatever Cook’s got stewin’ smells mighty good,” Cutie, the smallest of the men, said as he turned his chair around backward and straddled it.
Brandon furrowed his brow. Cook wouldn’t like that one bit.
Cutie glanced the other way.
Slim, who was tall and well built, not at all slim, cocked his head at Brandon. “Any idea when the new cattle are coming in?”
Brandon ran a hand through his thick brown hair. How was he going to answer? He had neither the money nor the means to procure more cattle. Though his ranch desperately needed more for the auction if they were to make enough to sustain the place.
Perhaps he should tell the men there had been some sort of delay. He opened his mouth to speak, but Cook came into the room and all eyes fell on her.
“Now, I don’t want to hear any more gums flappin’,” Cook’s voice boomed as she bustled around the men, first setting the dishes of food down and then placing napkins in their laps. “Y’all best be eatin’ up!”
Brandon smiled at the woman. How did she always know?
“Not this second!” She slapped Dan’s hand when he reached for the serving fork. “You know how we do things. Grace first.”
Dan glared at her but withdrew his hand.
Brandon gave the men a once over and then bowed his head, returning thanks for the food.
Only then did Cook nod and return to the kitchen.
Brandon couldn’t help but notice that Uncle Owen watched after her until she disappeared through the doorway and there was nothing left but the clatter of pots and pans. Their dinner music.
Slim met Brandon’s eyes. “So, boss, about those cows—”
“I hear chatter in there,” Cook called.
Brandon looked down and shoved a bite of food into his mouth. It was clear who ran this ranch.
****
Cold. The air whipping her hair chilled her face, but it couldn’t touch her heart. That was already lost. Was this all she would ever feel? Perhaps that’s what she deserved.
A small hand pulled at her skirt. Samuel. She couldn’t forget him. He deserved better. More than what life had dealt him. Leaning down, she swept him into her arms and held him to her chest. If only there were some semblance of warmth there for him. It couldn’t be helped.
“Don’t cry, Mama.” His tiny voice broke through the silence. Small hands framed her face. “Pa’s in heaven, right?”
Nodding at her son with his simple faith, she set her forehead on his, closing her eyes so he couldn’t see her tears.
Movement to her left gave her pause. But she dare not look. Probably another well-meaning friend come to comfort her. A face among many.
“They need to start.” It was Reverend Mason.
Men with their shovels clanging fell into step behind him. Why now? Could she just have a few more minutes before time continued? Before the inevitable swept her along?
“Ma’am?” The preacher’s voice was kind, but insistent.
Didn’t he know her world was falling apart? That nothing would ever be the same? That she had lost the only one who ever knew…who ever understood…
A hand fell upon her arm, and she did not try to resist as the reverend tugged at her, pulling her away from the graveside.
She snuggled Samuel closer to her chest, placing a hand behind his head and pressing his little face into the crook of her neck. He didn’t need to see. No, she couldn’t let him see as the two men scooped dirt onto his father’s casket.
“Mama, you’re hurting me,” came the muffled little voice.
She loosened her grip. And guilt slammed into her—she had caused enough pain, enough grief. No more. And certainly not for Samuel. He was everything.
“The next few days will be hard, Mrs. Haynes. Don’t expect anything different. You will have to find a new normal. Life as you knew it is gone.”
Amanda nodded numbly as she pressed a kiss to the side of Samuel’s head. New normal. What did that mean? What was normal? Her husband had been ill for near three months. She had watched him waste away. And her child watched his father suffer until death released him.
Shouldn’t they welcome a new normal? But Amanda would give anything to have Jed back. Not to hear his voice, or feel his arms one more time, but to know that everything was going to be all right. Was that selfish? Because right now, the future looked grim. How was she to care for Samuel? For herself? For the ranch?
The preacher stopped in front of Amanda’s cart. They stood in silence for several moments.
“If you need anything, let me know. The church is of little means, but we may be able to help some.”
Her eyes met his then. What could they do? The good church-going people of Wharton City barely managed to pay the reverend and keep the doors open. Help her? No. Amanda refused to lay herself on the mercy of the church. She would find a way.
“Thank you, Reverend, for your kind offer. We will manage.”
Then he gave her a long look, his mouth a thin line. Who cared if he believed her? He lowered his voice. “Your parents, are they still back east?”
Her eyebrow shot up. What exactly was he getting at? That she should return to her parents’ home? He didn’t know what he was saying.
Holding her chin high, she maneuvered Samuel to her right hip so she could look the preacher square in the face. “Yes, sir, they are.”
“Perhaps they would enjoy a visit—”
“I appreciate your kindnesses toward me and my son, Reverend Mason. If you’ll excuse me, I have much to attend to at home.”
The reverend’s mouth fell open and shut, his eyes wide.
Amanda lifted Samuel into the cart and then, grabbing the bench firmly, pulled herself up.
Then, with a fire in her belly, she jerked the reins and prodded the horse forward.
****
Brandon perused the aisles of the General Store. He already had his purchases in hand, but there was no rush to return to the ranch. More questions, more doubts from his ranch hands awaited him.
Why couldn’t they just trust him? Why couldn’t he find the right answers? Just today, he’d had a run in with Mr. George C. Perkins. The banker was as slimy as they came. But Brandon needed to remain in his good graces.
His ranch would be forfeit if he didn’t find some way to infuse it with added income. But where would such a salvation come from?
He moved closer to the front of the store. The clerk and the customer at the counter were talking. Perhaps he should wait before approaching with his wares. Still, he could not help but overhear…
“…I just can’t imagine what the poor thing is going to do,” the customer feigned Christianly consideration after someone.
Brandon suspected her real concern was a piece of gossip. But whom did they speak of? Had someone in the community fallen ill?
“Doesn’t she have kin back east?” The clerk had stopped working altogether.
“Yes. But her parents are poor. Not much help there. Why, she’d have to find a way to make money. That little woman would end up supporting that son of hers and her parents, too,” the woman prattled on.
Supporting? Now he was curious. Brandon wasn’t one to listen to idle gossip, but he found himself intrigued. He picked a can up off the shelf and pretended to read the label.
“It’s a shame. That ole’ husband of hers wasn’t the best, but at least he did give her something.” Brandon wasn’t looking, but the higher pitch of the customer’s voice gave her away.
Ah. They must be talking about Amanda Haynes. He had heard Jed had passed away. Sick with tuberculosis these last couple months. Terrible shame.
“A name and a home.” It was the lower tone of the clerk.
“And food on the table.”
“She worked near as hard as he on that ranch. I bet she’s the only reason it kept running.”
That’s right. Jed had a ranch. Not a large one, budding really. But it had cattle. And that was just what Brandon needed. Some cattle.
“Well, one thing’s for sure, she can’t run it by herself.” That higher pitch was starting to unnerve him.
“Who knows what’ll happen to her?”
“She’ll have to take the first offer that comes along. She is mighty pretty.”
“That is the truth.”
Offer? Offer for what? Marriage? They were talking about a proposal. Well now, that would be one way to secure that cattle. Then they could both get what they want: he would offer security for her and her son, and he would get the cattle he needed for his ranch. Was it too perfect?
“Mr. Miller?”
Brandon jerked his head toward
the sound. Had he spoken out loud?
The clerk and the customer, a tall woman with dark hair, were both staring at him.
“Yes?” He straightened.
“Can I help you with anything?”
“No, thank you.” He held up the can. “I’m just looking at this…” Glancing at the label, he noted that it was infant food. Brandon quickly put it behind his back. “I’m checking out what you have over here. Can’t say I’ve noticed this shelf before.” His face warmed.
The clerk quirked a brow. “All right. If you need anything, let me know.” She turned back to the customer, but continued to give him sideways glances.
Brandon put the infant food back on the shelf and rubbed his palms, now sweating, on his trouser legs. Then he took several deep breaths. Was this plan sane? Or was he crazy?
Glancing at the clerk, he noticed her looking in his direction, but her voice was lowered to the point he could no longer hear her conversation.
He needed to get out of there. Then he would be able to think.
Taking his wares to the counter, he paid, mumbling simple pleasantries along the way. Relief washed over him when he stepped into the sunlight. He had to make a plan. And soon.
****
Amanda heaved a sigh as she picked up the bucket of water. Why did she have to fill it so full? Because she loathed making multiple trips. So, she walked back toward the house, leaning to one side, her shoulder nearly pulling out of its socket as she carried her load.
She climbed the porch steps with much effort and breathed in relief when she reached the door. Pressing on it with her body, she was startled when it didn’t give way under her weight. Water sloshed onto her dress hem and shoes.
Trail 0f Fears (Native American Heritage) Page 25
