The Rising of Glory Land

by Janie DeVos

  As Papa headed out the door, Mama gave him an extra Brown Betty she’d made for Striker. “Tell him we’ll miss him and to come see us when he’s in town again.” Papa said he would and was almost out the door when Mama called to him.

  “What time we leavin’ to meet up with Paroh and the tribe tomorrow?” she asked.

  “He said they were going to leave an hour after sunup, right, Eliza?”

  All I could do was nod yes. I didn’t trust my voice at that point.

  “Let’s head out about seven o’clock, then,” Papa said. “That should make our timing about right.” I heard the screen door slam behind him.

  Suddenly, I felt Mama come up behind me and wrap her arms around my waist.

  “Sometimes life is awfully hard, isn’t it?” she said, laying her head against the back of my shoulder.

  “Lately, it’s been hard all the time, not just sometimes,” I said, trying to make light of it.

  “It’ll get better,” she assured me.

  “Will it, Mama?”

  “It will, and in the meantime, the good Lord will see to it that our skin gets a little thicker,” she quipped.

  “At this point, Mama, I think I need more than thicker skin. A suit of armor might serve me well.”

  “You don’t need that, darlin’ girl,” Mama said, releasing me and going back to the table for more dishes. “Think about what wearin’ that would be like on a hot July afternoon in Miami!”

  We laughed and it felt good; then we fell into a comfortable silence as we became lost in our own thoughts. After the dishes were done, I went to my room to pack for the trip to Immokalee, but my mind was on Striker. I wondered how he was reacting to the news from Papa, but I didn’t have to wait long to find out. About an hour later, while Mama and I were sitting on the porch having some Brown Betty, Papa got home. Before he even reached the top step of the porch, Mama asked him how Striker had taken the news. Papa said that he got real quiet, and other than saying he was relieved to hear it and grateful to us for finding out, Striker didn’t say much else. Papa also said that when he told Striker how Owen had caused the wreck, an absolutely murderous look crossed his face. Who could blame him, my father said. Silently, I thanked God that Ol’ Blind Benny had gotten to Owen first, otherwise we might be taking Brown Betty to Striker in one of the prison labor camps.

  Late in the night, while staring up at the avocado tree’s shadows, I decided to go see Striker. I wanted to check on him, to see if he needed someone to talk to. Plus, I’d never really said good-bye to him. After quickly throwing on some clothes, I quietly left my house and made my way through people’s backyards to Striker’s place. His shed door was closed and the windows were dark, but one window in the second story of the house was illuminated. It was Striker’s bedroom. I stared up at it from the corner of the house, and as I did, I heard deep wrenching sobs come through the open window. As much as I wanted to go to him and comfort him, I knew that I couldn’t. A battle was taking place, and it was strictly a private affair between Striker and the inner demons that had tormented him for so long. Quietly, I stepped back into the shadows and went home.

  Chapter 39

  H, as in…

  It was mid-morning on the second day of our journey, and the humidity and heat of Florida’s interior were already starting to wear on everyone. The breeze—if it could even be called such—was stingy and hot, and only added another layer of grit and grime to our skin. Wearing us down even more was the fact that a heavy rainstorm had erupted soon after we’d made camp the night before, turning our site into a muddy mess. Finally, after settling down in another area that was just as wet but a little less muddy, a vicious squadron of mosquitoes had made a midnight meal of us. No one could sleep; we spent the entire night either slapping at the biting insects, or nearly succumbing to heatstroke while seeking refuge under a blanket. Now, as we rode the last seven miles of the fifty-mile journey to meet the Immokalee tribe at the halfway point, I let my mind wander wherever it would to distract myself from my sore back and bottom.

  Looking over at Mama on my left, I saw that she looked about as trail weary as the rest of us. Her lightly tanned skin was covered with a thin layer of dust, as was her hair. But she still sat tall and proud in her saddle, which made me sit up a little straighter in mine. She was the one I measured myself to in all things. Once again, I thanked God that in His infinite wisdom, He’d seen fit to put my earthly life in her hands. I also uttered another prayer that Aunt Ivy and Uncle Moses would be among the Immokalee people rendezvousing with us. Mama had no way of knowing if they’d come, and no way of letting them know in such a short amount of time about our plans, so all we could do was hope and pray they’d be there.

  Turning my head to the right, I looked at my handsome father. Set against the backdrop of his deeply tanned Creek Indian skin, his eyes looked like blue sapphires. But it wasn’t just the color that made them so striking, it was the wisdom and kindness behind them. There was integrity and honor there, as well, which made me want to be nothing short of all that he expected me to be.

  Next, my mind wandered where it always did, even when I tried to detour it: Striker. I never did get to say good-bye. I thought that perhaps I’d have a chance when my parents and I were leaving, but Striker was already gone. It was probably just as well that he was. I hated good-byes, and it would have been especially hard with him.

  I wondered what he was doing at the moment, but figured he was probably getting settled at the St. Augustine lighthouse. Though he’d taken the train, he’d brought Odie along, which made me smile as I pictured the poor animal riding in one of the cattle cars, wide-eyed and wondering what hellacious beast had swallowed him whole. I was glad that Striker and Odie had each other, and could spend more time together again. It had been hard on them both when Striker worked offshore at Fowey.

  I wondered what Striker had had for breakfast, and if anyone had taken the time to clean the lighthouse well before he got there, just as I had done in preparation for…Stop it! I told myself. That chapter is over now. You’ve got to let it go, or it’ll eat you alive worse than last night’s mosquitoes! But telling myself to do something was far easier than getting myself to do it.

  Suddenly, Papa’s voice startled me out of my thoughts. “There they are,” he said, jutting his chin slightly toward the left as he raised his hand in greeting.

  There, waiting in a long line to meet us were the Immokalee Seminoles. Craning my neck to see if my aunt and uncle were among them, I suddenly caught sight of a long silver-haired Caucasian woman sitting regally upon a spotted black and gray horse. Next to her was a tall black man, looking equally regal sitting atop an enormous Palomino horse. My Aunt Ivy and Uncle Moses had come.

  Mama saw them, too, but respectfully waited for both village chiefs to ride out ahead of everyone else and warmly greet each other. Then the first of many gifts were exchanged between the two men. Paroh presented Sam with a beautiful walking stick. It was made from rich oak that had the exquisitely carved face of an owl at the top, where the hand would grip. And Sam gave Paroh an intricately carved ceremonial pipe inlaid with various hardwoods. The men spoke for a moment or two, then turned to their respective tribes and held up their right arms, indicating their people should join them.

  Mama and Ivy did not have to be told twice. Both sisters dug their heels into their horses’ haunches and raced toward each other. When they were about ten yards away from each other, they pulled their horses to a hard stop, jumped from their saddles and ran into each other’s arms. Papa and I slowly rode up to them, as did Uncle Moses and my three cousins, Charlie, Martha, and Isaac. As the women continued to hold each other, cry, and talk over each other, Papa and I embraced the rest of our family. Finally, Mama and Aunt Ivy turned their attention to the rest of us. My aunt held me at arms’ length, running her eyes over me. Then, my stately, silver-haired aunt said, “You are magnificent. You’
re a warrior.” If she’d told me that I had just won all of the gold in Fort Knox, I could not have been more pleased.

  “Come. Let’s sit together before you have to start back,” my aunt said to all of us. Looking around, I saw that people from both tribes were sitting in small groups wherever they could find shade.

  We went to a scrub oak tree that offered enough shade to shelter my family. Uncle Moses and my cousins began to gather up wood for a small fire so that they could make tea, while Papa and I took our horses over to a creek to water them. When the tea was ready, Mama pulled out a sack of sweet biscuits she’d made, and we ate together as a family for the first time in ten years. There was so much news to catch up on, we decided to go one by one and give a small overview of what we were each doing. But, before we could start, Mama told Ivy the news she’d dreaded giving her, that Uncle James was gone.

  “At least he was doing what he loved to do, Ivy,” Mama said, holding her sister’s hand. My aunt, too stunned to do any more than nod, tried to smile reassuringly at Mama, but her tear-filled eyes gave away the depth of her sadness. My mother patted her hand, comforting her. “His life was too short, but he was happy in it, Sister. And that’s what matters most. I know that if James had had a choice of living for another forty years without accomplishing the things he had, or enjoying the great satisfaction of his accomplishments during a life short-lived, he’d have chosen the latter.”

  “I know,” Ivy whispered, tears falling into her lap as she sat cross-legged on the ground across from my mother. “You’re right.”

  Mama pulled her twin sister into her arms, and the two of them cried softly together. I knew there had to be regret on Aunt Ivy’s part that she’d seen so little of James in recent years. And I knew that there had to be regret on Mama’s part that James would not be there to share the years ahead. Our time with our Immokalee family was so limited that we couldn’t dwell on James’s death. So we moved on, instead, to what was happening in each other’s lives.

  Uncle Moses, handsome and dignified in his middle years, was still busy acting as liaison between the world outside the Everglades and his Seminole family. Often acting as a negotiator in business dealings, he was respected and trusted by both sides. Aunt Ivy was now the most revered medicine woman in the area, and was often sought out by people of all races to help treat their many afflictions. Charlie, their first born and two years older than Dylan, was managing a turpentine camp about ten miles north in Felda. Their youngest son, Isaac, was working construction in the town of Immokalee. But what really got my attention was when their middle child, Martha, told us that she was teaching the children in her village, just as I had been doing.

  “Eliza has been teaching Paroh’s people,” my mother said, and I could hear the pride in her voice.

  “Oh?” Martha said, turning to look at me. That revelation had gotten her attention. Smiling at my cousin, I confirmed it was so. Looking at the girl, I couldn’t help but admire her unusual beauty. Being of mixed race, she had skin the rich color of burnt butter, and her hair was as black as mine was. But her eyes were her most striking feature. They were light blue like Aunt Ivy’s. Set against her darker skin and black hair, they were truly glorious. Neither of her brothers had inherited those eyes, so it set Martha apart.

  “I guess you wouldn’t consider living here so that you could work with us, would you?” Martha asked seriously. “There’re only two of us teaching all grade levels and with Paroh’s tribe joining us now, we could use at least another teacher or two.”

  “You should, Eliza,” both Mama and Aunt Ivy said in unison, causing them to laugh. It was good to see them smiling again. However, I looked hard at Mama to gauge if she was truly serious. Honestly, it surprised me she would suggest such a thing, and I was a little hurt that she would urge me to leave home. But she was a smart and unselfish woman who knew that nothing much awaited me back in Miami.

  These Seminole people I had grown to love so deeply would no longer be there. I wouldn’t have the pleasure and fulfillment I’d had from hearing Rose read aloud, or hearing her younger sister recite her ABC’s by memory. From now on, I’d spend many of my hours at Burdine’s, and while I was grateful to the good retailer for giving me employment, I never planned on making it a career. I supposed I could ask for a teaching job in the elementary school in Coconut Grove, but they didn’t seem to have trouble keeping teachers on, and with more and more people coming into the area, including teachers with years of experience, it wasn’t likely I’d get a job there.

  I could continue to dive wrecks with Papa, but with the reef lights alerting ships to the jagged rocks’ exact locations, fewer and fewer vessels were going down, and there’d be even fewer now that reputable lighthouse keepers would be dutifully burning their Fresnel beams. The one thing that might have kept me in Miami was Striker. But he was gone now.

  “We’d have to check with Paroh and Sam,” I said quietly, unsure whether this was the path I really wanted to be on.

  “Oh, don’t worry about Sam,” Aunt Ivy assured me. “He’d be only too happy to have you join us.”

  “And I don’t think you’d have to worry about Paroh,” Mama said, gently fingering the locket on my chest to remind me of his acceptance and love for me.

  “Baby girl,” Papa quietly said, while looking me directly in the eye. “Follow the path your heart sets you on.”

  “Let me think about it, all right?” I replied, looking around at everyone. “Even if I were to accept the position, I’d need to go home first and get more of my things. I’d also need to give Mr. Burdine a little notice. Just let me think about it for a little bit.”

  We got home a day later and found an envelope by the front door with Papa’s name written on it, and the key to Striker’s motorboat inside. A note was with it, gifting the boat to my father for finding out the truth about the death of his parents. I knew then that there wasn’t a chance that Striker was coming back. And I also knew it was time for me to move on. Two weeks later, Papa escorted me to the Immokalee village, where I picked up teaching exactly where I’d left off the last day in the Everglades village, on the letter H—as in heartbroken.

  Chapter 40

  Winds of Change

  December 1907

  “There is absolutely no reason why you can’t use a cypress tree for a Christmas tree, Thomas. If Bettie wants to use a regular old pine tree…well, that’s her choice, but you use the one you think is most beautiful to celebrate Jesus’s birthday.” Squatting down, I dried my six-year-old student’s eyes and made him blow his runny nose into my handkerchief before sending him back to his seat. “Now, children,” I said firmly. “The good Lord saw fit to plant a whole bunch of different types of trees, and He gave us the freedom to pick which ones we like the best. There’s no right or wrong in His eyes about it, so there shouldn’t be in your eyes either. With that said, y’all are dismissed—oh, and don’t forget to take a peppermint stick from the bowl by the door!” I hurriedly added, but it wasn’t necessary. The children were looking forward to their little Christmas treat from me. As they made their hasty exit, they had to run by Paroh, who stood patiently aside at the door.

  “How long have you been standing there?” I asked, surprised he hadn’t just interrupted class if he needed something.

  “Only a moment. You handled the battle of the better Christmas tree quite well.” He looked amused.

  “Lord knows, I love the holidays,” I said as I erased their homework assignment from the blackboard. “But with half the class telling the other half that there’s no such thing as Santa, or that a cypress makes a better Christmas tree than a pine, it seems that we’ve lost the old ‘goodwill to man’ Christmas spirit.”

  “I think you need a break,” Paroh chuckled.

  “And I think you’re right,” I agreed.

  “When are you leaving?” he asked as he helped me collect the Christmas songbooks o
n the desks.

  “I told Mama and Papa that I’d be home by the sixteenth, which is day after tomorrow. I’ll be heading back the day after Christmas.

  “Were those planks I saw the men bringing in on the wagon about midday?” I asked as I threw a dark brown shawl around my shoulders and took one last look around the room before we walked out.

  “Yes. Sam’s been complaining ever since this school was built in the spring that a chief should have a wood and concrete home, as well. So, he’s finally getting one.”

  “And are you going to build yourself one, too?” I smiled.

  “Not if I can help it,” he laughed. “I like the breeze blowing through a chickee, and being able to look all around me. Not just through a tiny slot of a window.”

  “You can have big windows, you know,” I pointed out.

  “Having no walls is better. Come,” he said, directing me in the opposite direction from my own chickee. “I have something to show you.”

  “What?” I asked, intrigued. “You haven’t gone and bought another goat, have you? Lord, that thing ate poor ol’ Nollie’s garden all to pieces!”

  “I know. She keeps reminding me,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’ve come very close to telling her that the worms ate it up long before the goat ever did, but…”

  “But you’re far better mannered than that,” I finished for him.

  As we worked our way through the village, I marveled at how much had changed in the year I’d been there. It had grown with the addition of Paroh’s tribe, of course, but it was more than that. The two tribes had worked together as one and within the first few months had built a nice little schoolhouse. But they’d also increased their fields of tomatoes, strawberries, and beans to three times the size, so that they could sell what the tribe didn’t consume. Now, they were in the middle of building a larger corral for holding some cattle they had purchased. It was just a few head, but it was a start.