Cherokee Sister

by Debbie Dadey

  Elisi had a way of looking at me that made me feel she really cared. She held me away from her and asked, “How is your family?”

  “Mama’s been tired a lot lately and Papa’s been busy getting the corn in,” I told her.

  Elisi Sweetwater nodded. “You help your mama. We want a healthy baby. Why, the last usdiga I held was my Leaf. Oh, so many summers ago.”

  “After Mama has it, I’ll bring it visiting,” I said, twisting my damp hair around my finger.

  Leaf handed her grandmother the plants and roots she had collected. “Good,” Elisi said, giving Leaf a kiss on her forehead. “Would my girls like some taffy? I have some old pieces I was going to feed the cow.” Elisi winked, reached into one of the big glass jars that sat on the store’s huge wooden counter, and gave us each a long pull of taffy.

  “Thanks,” I said, grabbing one, “we’re always glad to help you out.” Whenever I visited, Elisi managed to find a treat for us.

  The Cherokee men entered the trading post and Rattler spoke harshly. “You going to help your customers?”

  “Hold on there, Rattler.” Elisi held up her hand. “I have to take care of my precious girls.”

  “Nothing precious about a white girl,” Rattler growled.

  “You’ll watch your tongue or leave my store,” Elisi said.

  Rattler said something to the other man in Cherokee, which I didn’t understand. Leaf’s grandmother snapped back in Cherokee and then the men were quiet.

  “Come outside with me to eat our candy,” Leaf said softly. She didn’t smile. She looked so serious it startled me.

  The two men watched us go out the door. Rattler spat tobacco juice on the floor right beside my bare feet. I jumped. Rattler had joked with me in the past. I wondered what had made him be so mean.

  “What did they say to Elisi?” I whispered. “Why did they look at me that way?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Leaf shook her head. “Elisi says they need a good hunt to keep them from being so ornery.”

  “They gave me the shivers.” I sat down on the porch steps and stuffed taffy into my mouth.

  “Nobody’s been doing much hunting lately,” Leaf said, licking her candy. “Even Cobb is home a lot. There are councils every night. The men fuss about some white man’s law.”

  “What law?” I asked.

  Leaf shook her head. “No one would tell me. But I read The Phoenix. And I heard Cobb and some men talking last night about a law having to do with us Cherokees and your president.”

  “When Rattler and his friend leave the post I want to ask Elisi about the army. Those men in the woods were scary.”

  “They are like the men in the store,” Leaf told me. “Lots of big talk. Besides, if you tell Elisi what happened, she won’t let me go into the woods for weeks. If you’re smart, you won’t tell your parents, either.”

  I sighed. Leaf was right. I hated being cooped up at home with nothing but chores to keep me company. “All right,” I told her, “but you’d better be careful.” It scared me to think what would happen to Leaf if she came face-to-face with those men.

  “Don’t worry,” Leaf said. “Everything will be fine.”

  I folded my sticky hands in my lap and kicked the dust with my bare toe. The front of the trading post faced the thick green woods, where the sweet smell of honeysuckle hung heavy in the afternoon heat, but behind me I could hear angry talk from the two Cherokee men. Their sound made the sugary taste in my mouth turn sour.

  3

  Wild Indian

  The sun through the trees made splotches of white on my dusty legs and feet as I walked home, swinging my heavy brown shoes by their laces. I looked out over the sloped fields of our farm, but I didn’t see Papa’s red head anywhere. I didn’t really expect to. The corn stood six feet high and would have just about covered him. Our farm might be small, but Papa always said the rich river soil made up for what we lacked in acreage. And our corn grew tall and strong in 1838.

  “Allie MacAllister!” Mama yelled when she saw me coming. “Get over here right now or I’ll take a switch to you!”

  I sped down the dirt path with my hair streaming behind me. I forgot all about putting my shoes on. When Mama talked switches I knew she was serious. I reached our clearing faster than a coon can climb a tree.

  Mama stood on the porch, holding a rag. Sweat spotted her brown gingham dress and the few wisps of hair that had escaped her tight bun were stuck to her forehead. “Allie, you’re a mess,” she scolded. “Where have you been?”

  “Playing in the woods,” I said, hoping Mama wouldn’t notice my bare feet. Of course, she did.

  “Allie Marie! If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, wear those shoes and your bonnet. You’re getting as brown as your dog.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said.

  “And playing in the woods, that’s no place for a young lady to be. I’ve been calling you for the better part of an hour. There’s chickens to be tended and water to be fetched, and I need you to do it.” Mama rubbed her swelling stomach.

  “I’ll get the water right away,” I said, grabbing the bucket off the porch and feeling bad that Mama had had to yell at me to help. I should do more on my own. I promised myself to help Mama all I could with the work around the cabin and not give her anything else to yell about.

  “For heaven’s sakes, clean yourself up while you’re down there,” Mama scolded. “You want people thinking you’re a wild Indian?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I mean no, ma’am.” I sighed. After tossing a little feed to the chickens, I walked to the trees that hid the little spring where we got our drinking water. Old Jim, our hound dog, followed me to get a drink.

  “You don’t care if I’m dirty, do you?” I asked Old Jim as he rolled in the moss by the spring. I poured water over my feet and wiped them dry with a clump of moss. Mama wouldn’t want me to get the inside of my shoes wet.

  “Mama wouldn’t believe me if I told her that Leaf takes a bath every morning, even in the winter,” I told Old Jim. “Once a week is good enough for most people.”

  Of course, I hadn’t believed it either. I’d figured Leaf was teasing me. So early one frosty morning I went to spy on her. Sure enough, Leaf and her grandmother stood in the river without a stitch on. It gave me gooseflesh watching them in the icy water. Brrr.

  I twirled a strand of long hair around my finger and looked at my reflection in the cool, green water. I’d never be as pretty as Leaf or her grandmother. My dark hair was nice enough, but my nose stuck out just like Papa’s, much too big to make me pretty. Maybe someday the rest of my face would catch up with my nose.

  I dipped the bucket into the spring, figuring I better stop dawdling before Mama started fussing again.

  I didn’t hear Mama, though. I heard a sound that made me freeze in terror. “Ayyyy!” tore through the trees from the cabin.

  I knew that sound. Leaf and I had sometimes practiced it on the safety of our rock, just for fun. Cobb had showed us how to do it like for real. It was a Cherokee war cry.

  “Ayyyy!” I heard it again, and it wasn’t Leaf acting silly. It was a real war cry. Old Jim barked and took off. I dropped the bucket and ran after him.

  4

  Trouble Brewing

  It was as if the world had exploded in front of our house. I could see only dust. Then through the dust two Cherokee men appeared, galloping their horses around and around, whooping and waving rifles over their heads. Old Jim chased the horses, angrily barking as if he were chasing the devil.

  I came up on the side of the house and found Mama crumpled on the porch with Papa’s old rifle in her lap. I didn’t think about the war cries and the dust. I was too afraid for Mama. I ran to the porch and threw myself down beside her. “Are you all right?” I called above the yells and thundering horses’ hooves.

  Mama looked up at me with her pale blue eyes. She was trembling all over.

  “Oh, Mama, what happened? Did they hurt you?”

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nbsp; Mama shook her head but said nothing. I couldn’t stand to see her so scared.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll run them off,” I said, grabbing the rifle. After all, Papa had taught me to shoot.

  I stood on our porch and shot into the air. The Cherokees reined in their horses and looked at me. Old Jim didn’t stop, though. He leaped up at one of the men and tried to bite his leg. But the man was too quick and gave my dog a good kick. Old Jim flew to the ground with a thud.

  “Come here, boy,” I called. Old Jim came whimpering to my side. He growled at the Cherokees, the hair standing up on the back of his neck.

  “Get off our land,” I snarled.

  The men laughed and got off their horses. They pointed their rifles directly at me. It was pretty clear that they weren’t afraid.

  I don’t know what would have happened next, but Mama snatched the rifle back. “Get in the house,” she told me in a strong voice, even though she was still sitting on the porch and her face looked pale.

  I didn’t want to leave her, but I’d been taught to mind. I started backing toward the door. Old Jim stood his ground and moved next to Mama, growling something fierce.

  The men stepped closer and Mama readied the rifle. “I’ll use this if I have to,” she said. Before I could tell if the Cherokees were going to heed her, another rider came into the clearing. It was Cobb Sweetwater. He shouted angrily at the men in Cherokee. I recognized only one word he said, oginalii. Leaf had taught me that word. It meant “friend.” Cobb said it and pointed right at me.

  The men yelled something back to Cobb. Then, without another word, they got on their horses and rode away.

  “Sorry for the trouble, Mrs. MacAllister,” Cobb said from atop Dover, his shining brown mare. “My friends are angry at the government, but they shouldn’t be taking it out on you. Still, it’d be best to keep your gun handy till all this mess settles down, what with you being so close to the territory.” Cobb nodded at us and rode away.

  All was eerily quiet, and Mama tried to make light. “I guess they were angry about the removal,” she whispered. “They’ve got a right to be mad, but I’ve got to rest now. Help me to bed.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said, putting my arm around her back. I wanted to know what this removal was all about and why the men had picked on us. We had never done anything to the Cherokees. It had to have something to do with the law Leaf had mentioned, but I couldn’t ask about it now. When Mama got to her feet, I saw blood on the back of her dress.

  “They did hurt you!” Tears welled in my eyes.

  “They didn’t touch me, but they sure scared me. I felt weak all of a sudden.” Mama shook her head. “I have such a hard time carrying babies. We were lucky to get you.”

  I swallowed hard, helping her into the tall feather bed. Leaning the rifle against the wall, I pulled extra quilts from our big, black leather trunk. They were still stained pink from the last baby’s delivery.

  Using the little water left in the basin, I wrung out a rag to put on Mama’s forehead. She must’ve seen the frightened look on my face because she said, “I’ll be all right. You go on now and fetch the water. I suspect you left the bucket down at the spring.” She tried to smile but winced instead.

  “I’ll get Papa from the field,” I said. He would know what to do.

  “No,” Mama said firmly. “Don’t go getting him upset. I’ll be better after I rest. Go on now, let me sleep. And, Allie, put on your shoes.”

  I smiled in spite of my worry. “Yes, ma’am,” I said. I ran back to the spring as fast as I could, and grabbed my shoes and a full water bucket.

  It was hard not to spill the water. I worried that one of those men might jump out from behind a tree. If they came back and found me, they might do more than yell. The trees around our cabin had never seemed scary before, but now I saw shadows everywhere. Leaf must have felt the same when those white men almost found us in the woods.

  When I got back home, Mama lay still on the bed, her face drained of color. I had to be quiet while I swept our floor for the second time that day.

  Mama was so proud of our wooden floor. For years we’d had a dirt floor. Then two years earlier, for Mama’s birthday, Papa had surprised her by nailing down the plank floor while we were out picking berries. Mama’s eyes had brimmed with tears when we got home; a princess couldn’t have smiled bigger. Papa had hummed a tune and twirled Mama around the cabin to try out the floor. How they had danced! Mama’s dark hair and Papa’s red had blurred together as they spun around. I had clapped and sung and danced beside them.

  After I swept, I made sure the rest of our cabin was tidy. Everything was in its place. Onions and peppers were drying in the rafters. The cooking pot hung beside the big open fireplace, ready for supper. The sawhorse table we had brought from South Carolina sat in the middle of our keeping room, and Mama’s dry sink sat off to the side. I wiped the sink and table even though they didn’t look dirty.

  Finally I couldn’t think of anything else to do. So I went into Mama’s room and sat on the floor beside her bed, rubbing my hand over the patchwork quilt she had made. I didn’t think I’d ever get my stitches so small. Mama moaned softly.

  I soaked a rag in water and gently laid it on Mania’s forehead. Her skin was so hot! Without meaning to, I jerked back, making her stir. I had to cool her off—I knew that from other times there had been sickness in our cabin. For a long while I traded rags on Mama’s forehead, always trying to keep a cool one on her.

  There had been a lot of sickness in our house. The hardest time had been after Hannah died. Mama’s other babies had died within a few hours of being born. I never knew them, but Hannah was different. I’d fed her. Changed her wet diaper. Washed her tiny red curls. Played with her. She’d laughed when I made her a doll.

  Papa had called me the best sister ever. He said his girls were the best things in the world. With us, he didn’t need the sun—we were his sunshine. He took Hannah and me on long walks in the woods. Mama used to laugh at us for taking a baby for a walk, but Papa said you were never too young to learn to love the land.

  We met Leaf on one of those walks. At first she had followed at a distance. Papa saw her before I did. He whispered to me, “There’s an Indian behind us.” It had chilled me to the bone. I had seen Indians in town before, but they always stayed away from us. And I’d heard lots of stories about Indians at Sunday meetings when we gathered with our neighbors. Scary stories.

  But there was nothing scary about Leaf. She was my size, with hair blacker than a moonless night. She’d smiled at me and I’d smiled back. We saw her on our next walk, and the next. She always smiled but never spoke. Then one day I motioned to her to come closer and she did. Before long she was walking with us, holding my hand and singing loud Scottish folk songs while Hannah bounced on Papa’s wide shoulders. Papa said it was like having three rays of sunshine.

  That was when Hannah was ten months old. She was so much fun. But the sickness came quick and ended those happy days. One minute Hannah was laughing and trying to ride Old Jim’s broad back, and the next minute she was shivering in Mama’s arms. We tried to keep her cool with wet rags, but it didn’t work. In two days a fever took the only sister I’d ever known.

  Papa didn’t say a word when he buried Hannah with her little doll. He stood by her grave for a long time as if he wanted to say something. But he didn’t. I guess he just couldn’t. Finally I saw a tear fall onto his cheek. He brushed it away, then went into the field to work.

  Papa never talked about Hannah again. And we never went singing into the woods again, although I wanted to. I missed my papa the way he used to be. I wanted to be a family like that again. After Hannah died, the sun didn’t seem to shine for Papa so much. He didn’t sing. He didn’t hug. He just closed up.

  Mama and I cried for three days straight after Hannah died, and then Mama got the fever. There wasn’t time for me to cry then, just time to work and be scared that Mama would die too. The way I was scared now.

>   Mama’s forehead was still burning hot. The cool rags hadn’t helped. I ran to the spring for more water and tried to figure out what to do.

  When I got back to the cabin, I heard moaning. Loud moaning. I dropped the bucket on the porch and ran into the bedroom. Mama was still sleeping and feverish. She thrashed about the bed. I tried to calm her by rubbing her hair the way she did mine when I felt poorly. I put another wet rag on her forehead and went outside to the porch to sit and think.

  Mama had told me not to get Papa, and I didn’t want to be bad, but she looked awful sick. I hugged my knees and shuddered. So much sickness and dying.

  Leaf’s mama had died when Leaf was only three, and her papa before that, from the measles. Leaf told me she didn’t remember anything about her parents. She never cried when she talked about them. It wasn’t the Cherokee way to cry, but I knew Leaf missed knowing them. At least she had her grandmother to hug her and love her.

  If something happened to Mama, I’d just have Papa. Not that I didn’t love him—I did. But since Hannah died Papa didn’t have time for me. He only had time to work in the fields from sunup to sundown, even on Sundays. Even though Mama scolded me, she talked to me too, and explained things and made me feel important.

  Old Jim walked up to me on the cabin steps and licked my hand. “What should I do, boy? Mama looks awful sick.” Old Jim whimpered and I hugged him.

  Then I heard Mama again, more like a scream than a moan. I’d never heard her sound like that before. And suddenly I knew what I had to do. Leaf had once told me that Elisi used roots to help sick people.

  I had promised Mama not to bother Papa, but I could go to Elisi. “Take care of Mama,” I told Old Jim, and then I ran.

  I took every shortcut, even through Lacey’s Stream, which was more like a snake-infested swamp. But I went through the water so fast I didn’t give the water moccasins a chance to bite.