by Connie Lacy
“He said if I’m not careful, I could easily become a laughingstock. He said funding can be impacted for faculty members perceived as clowns. His words.”
“But you didn’t do anything.”
“The rumor mill is already grinding,” he said. “I’ve gotten several half-joking messages asking if I was cooking meth in the woods. It comes across as a very fishy story, especially since I can’t tell anyone the truth.”
I’d remained standing, but sank into a chair like a tire going flat.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Questions filled my mind. Who would I get to finish the translation? How could I help Amadahy? What about my relationship with Eric?
“There’s something else,” he said. “We took that scum of the earth five gold nuggets. Suddenly, he has financial assets. Which we provided him. No doubt, we changed history by letting him get his filthy hands on that gold.”
“But…”
“Yeah, I know, it was my brilliant idea. And, yeah, our intentions were noble.” He pulled himself up to a sitting position. “But even if we’d succeeded in that half-baked plan to trick him into running off to the gold fields, we would’ve been meddling with the past. Just because Jonah was an asshole doesn’t give us the right to…”
“An abusive, violent, dictatorial asshole!”
“There’ve been plenty of those down through the centuries.”
“Are you saying you’re okay with leaving Amadahy to…”
“Live her life? Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”
“I can’t stand by and let her suffer. She’s already suffered enough. Her people were forced from their homes, ordered to march west! She was cheated out of her family’s land. Then Jonah murdered Isham and claimed the farm. She has a horrible, shitty life that was forced on her!”
“What about Ginny and all the rest of the slaves? They had horrible, shitty lives that were forced on them too! The injustice and brutality that’s been inflicted in the past – and continues to be inflicted – is mind-boggling! If you want to right some wrongs, there’s plenty of causes to choose from in the here and now!”
“I thought you…”
“I think I got sucked into a time travel fantasy. We can’t go back to 1840 and play God.”
“Excuse me? Sucked into a fantasy?” I jumped to my feet. “You’re not a child. You joined me because you wanted to, as I recall, not because I tricked you! And, as you yourself pointed out, you’re the one who first mentioned gold!”
“Partly because I was falling for you. And partly it was so ridiculously fantastical that I…”
“It was never a game to me!”
“I didn’t say it was a…”
“You…”
“They’re all dead, Kathryn! They’ve been dead a long, long time.”
My jaw clenched so hard, my teeth hurt.
I stormed out, slamming the door behind me, and stalked to my car in the pouring rain, jumped in and backed out of the parking space. Pounding the steering wheel as I pulled out of the complex, I fishtailed and nearly ran into an oncoming car.
Then the tears welled up. Which ticked me off. If there’s one thing that makes me really mad, it’s when stupid tears fall when I’m angry!
“Sissy!” I shouted, hitting the steering wheel again and hurting my hand. “You’re a spineless sissy, Eric Murray!”
How could he abandon Amadahy because his department chair threatened to withdraw funding? Really?
It only took me a few minutes to get to Nana’s house, which was a good thing because driving while blowing off steam might possibly be even more dangerous than driving under the influence. Especially during a thunderstorm. The only problem – I was so steamed, it would be challenging to talk with Nana and Jeannette. I parked further down the street in front of a neighbor’s house.
Eight o’clock at night in the summertime normally means there’s still plenty of light. But with rain coming down in sheets, it looked more like midnight.
When the urge to slap the steering wheel finally abated, I wiped my eyes and blew my nose before doing a U-turn and heading back to Nana’s house.
“What are you doing here on a stormy Monday night?” Jeannette said as soon as she saw my face.
I stepped inside, considering how to answer.
“Kathryn, you’re soaked!” Nana cried. “I’ll get you a towel.” She rushed down the hallway.
“Have you eaten supper?” Jeannette asked.
“No, actually.”
“Sit down and I’ll pop a frozen dinner in the microwave.” She gestured at the kitchen table. “You want spaghetti or chicken tetrazzini?” she said, staring into the freezer.
“Spaghetti would be great.”
“Here you go, sweetie,” Nana said, hurrying back into the kitchen with a large towel, wrapping it around me and giving me a hug. “Goodness, did you lose your umbrella?”
“Forgot it.” Which was funny since I had three umbrellas in my car.
As the microwave hummed and Jeannette set a napkin and silverware in front of me, Nana retrieved three wine glasses from the cabinet and a bottle of her favorite Cabernet. She poured us all a glass without even asking, then set a box of chocolate cookies on the table, reminding me of a teenager, excited about camping out with her girlfriends.
I toweled my hair lightly and wiped my arms, then wrapped the towel around me like a shawl, realizing my wet clothes were making me cold in the air conditioning. But the spaghetti and wine warmed me up.
“You look tired,” Nana said. “You’ve even got dark circles under your eyes.”
“Long day.”
Jeannette watched me closely as though she were waiting for the other shoe to drop.
When I’d finished my meal, she broached the subject I was here to discuss.
“Saw the story in the paper this morning,” she said, twirling her glass between her fingers.
“I did too!” Nana said. “Did you see it, Kathryn? They did a good job covering the story, I think. I really hope the police follow up and do something about that evil man. I don’t care if he is her husband!”
“Listen, Nana…”
“And how is what’s-his-name? Is he doing all right?” she said.
“Eric is fine. He’s taking it easy at home.”
“What luck a bullet didn’t lodge somewhere inside his body,” she said.
“I still don’t understand,” Jeannette said. “Did the bullet graze him?”
“Something like that,” I replied, quickly turning my attention back to my grandmother. “Listen, Nana, I know you meant well when you called the police and did the interview with the newspaper, but I sure would appreciate it if you’d let me handle the situation.”
She straightened her glasses, shifting in her chair to face me.
“I believe I gave you plenty of chances to handle the situation, as you put it, and you did nothing, as far as I could tell. I know you look upon yourself as my caretaker, Kathryn, but I’ve been taking care of myself longer than you’ve been alive. I’ve got sweaters older than you are! And if you and Jeannette think I don’t see you rolling your eyes like some of my grey matter leaked out of my ear while I was sleeping, you’re sadly mistaken.”
“Nana, I…”
“Don’t interrupt.” Her tone was all business, and I could suddenly envision her as a capable young woman used to traveling the world or handling a classroom full of rambunctious students. “I’ll call the police if I think it’s warranted. I certainly don’t need your permission. And I can talk to a reporter if I see fit.”
She steepled her fingers like a teacher having a come-to-Jesus with a naughty student.
“I’m sorry, Nana. Truly, I am. I never meant to…”
“One day, if you’re lucky, you’ll be old like me,” she said. “And when that time comes, I believe you’ll understand.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I love you very much. I guess I’ve gotten a little protective.”
> “A little?” she said.
“It’s only natural. Because of how much I care.”
She grunted softly.
“Edie,” Jeannette said, “I want to apologize too. When I first came, I never dreamed you’d become like a sister to me. And I guess I’ve been overprotective too. Like Kathryn, I’ve done it out of love and concern. Please forgive me.”
She reached across the table and took Nana’s hand in hers. I laid my hand on top of theirs.
“I used to help my grandmother when I was a little girl,” she said, her usual warm tone of voice returning. “Grandma’s the one who told me about my Cherokee heritage. She became a little dotty in her old age, but it didn’t slow her down much. She said she’d heard stories about one of her great-grandpas beating his wife. She told me ‘don’t ever let a man hit you, Edie.’ She said ‘you need to get to know a man real good before you marry him.’ I took her advice. Bob was the best husband a woman could have.”
She grew misty-eyed. So did I.
“Amen,” Jeannette said, emptying her wine glass.
“I was waiting to tell you both when we were all together,” Nana said, “that I hired a genealogist to research my family tree. I got tired of waiting for someone else to do it.” She gave me a look. “I told her I want to find out if all the family stories about having Cherokee blood are true.”
I sensed Jeannette forcing herself not to roll her eyes. But considering all I’d learned about Amadahy, Nana’s stories no longer seemed like tall tales.
13
My mood matched the weather the rest of the week – grey and rainy. Stuck doing tedious research on court cases at work and searching for a new translator in my off hours, I felt as though I’d been cast aside. The only one who wanted to keep me company was Pixie, who wasn’t troubled in the least by hanging out with a social pariah.
I did find someone to finish translating the diary – a native speaker who lived in North Carolina. It was strictly business. No face-to-face meeting. She asked me to scan the pages and email them. I doubled her usual fee for a rush job.
A lightbulb also came on in my brain as I was treating two blisters on my toes from wearing those nineteenth century women’s boots. I searched online until I found a guy who did orthopedic shoe builds. When I took the right shoe to his shop on my lunch hour and told him to add a four-inch sole, he looked more than a little skeptical.
“The patient should come in for a fitting,” he said.
“She can’t possibly come in. If it’s not quite right, I’ll bring it back and pay extra for a second try.”
I convinced him to get a move on and told him I’d pick it up first thing Saturday morning. Frustrated about my awkward efforts to save Amadahy from that half-witted white male supremacist, the least I could do was make it easier for her to walk. I honestly didn’t know how she endured her daily chores, much less surviving a pregnancy and motherhood. I’d seen her cringe in pain. Hopefully, I could provide some relief. And, just maybe, give her the ability to run away, if it came to that.
Friday afternoon, as we were driving back to the station in the satellite truck, my phone dinged. It was an email with an attachment from Nancy Smith, my new translator. Although I was anxious to read the new pages, I tucked the phone back in my bag.
“Is that your boyfriend asking you out this weekend?” Mallory said from her spot in the back seat.
The way she stressed the word boyfriend, with that judgmental lilt in her voice, stuck in my craw. Bad enough she sent suspicious vibes my way every day, scoping out my face and arms, obviously looking for bruises.
I refused to respond. Brandon, our camera man, glanced over at me from the driver’s seat.
“Who’s the boyfriend?” he asked.
It was an innocent question so I didn’t give him any grief over it. I shook my head, letting him know Mallory was baiting me. He took the hint. Mallory didn’t.
“Where’s he taking you?” she said.
“Mallory…” I almost let her have it, but managed to dial my temper back a notch. “I don’t have a date this weekend.”
No way I was telling her we’d broken up. God, she’d probably want to have me X-rayed for bone fractures.
“Guess that’s good news, considering.”
I really did try to put myself in her shoes. If I suspected her boyfriend was hitting her, what would I do? But it was hard to imagine. She wouldn’t tolerate it any more than I would.
As soon as I got home that evening, I tossed my work clothes in the hamper, sweaty from a day on assignment in the heat. I took a cool shower, then slipped into a sleeveless aqua beach shift. I needed to start calling it a house shift since I never went to the beach anymore.
I poured Pixie’s favorite kitty food in her bowl, fixed myself a salad, waiting till I sat down at the table with my supper before opening the attachment on Nancy’s email.
Amadahy’s Journal – Part 5 Planting Month (May) 1840
When Ginny returned after two days’ time, she carried a small basket of early peaches. She chased after Betsey who crawled on the ground while I washed clothes and spread them on bushes to dry. My baby’s new skills became a worry to me – how to keep my little daughter from triggering Jonah’s anger.
Ginny held Betsey’s hands up high, letting her small feet touch the riverbank, speaking to her in a special baby language I did not understand.
“She gonna be walking real soon,” Ginny said. “Then you in trouble.”
She continued talking to me as I worked.
“How long you been married to Mister Jonah?”
“We visited the judge in winter.”
“Here it is, the month of May! How come you ain’t pregnant yet?”
“I am nursing Betsey.”
“I expect you gonna be nursing her for a good while.” She laughed a knowing laugh.
Jonah returned when the sun was high, sitting in the house and filling his plate with bread and meat I prepared.
“Where’s your slave friend?” he said.
“She is with Betsey by the river.”
“Tell her I wanna see her.”
I moved toward the door.
“Alone,” he said.
Pausing in the doorway, I turned to regard his face. He ignored me, spearing a hunk of venison with his knife. A small piece fell into his beard as he lifted the meat to his mouth.
When I reached the river, Ginny was singing Betsey to sleep, strapped onto her cradle board as I had instructed.
“Jonah would speak with you,” I said.
She raised one brow in question.
“I do not know,” I replied, careful to say nothing more.
When she entered the house, I followed quietly, standing beside the open window that faced the river to hear their voices.
“Silas says he’s gonna put you on the auction block,” Jonah said. “Told him I might be interested. But I gotta know if you’re sound of body before I make an offer.”
She did not speak.
“You had any babies?”
“No sir.”
“Come over here.”
There were soft footsteps.
“Don’t want no damaged goods,” he said, a sly tone in his voice.
My eyes closed in anger.
“Take off your dress.”
“Yessir.” Her voice trembled.
There was a rustle of fabric.
“Drop it on the floor and come stand by me.”
I ran toward the river as fast as my feet would take me, my ungainly stride slowing me when I needed swiftness. Reaching the bank where my baby slept, I picked up three rocks and threw them one by one into the water. Then I screamed.
At once, Jonah rushed from the house, his musket in hand, the door standing open behind him. I removed Betsey from the cradle board as she cried, holding her in my arms.
Jonah held his long gun in front of him, looking in every direction as he drew near.
“What in hell’s going on out here?”
he shouted.
“A bear threatened the baby,” I said, filling my voice with alarm.
“Where’d it go?”
“Downriver,” I said, spying Ginny in the doorway smoothing her dress.
“What kind of bear?” he said, scanning the riverbank.
“Black bear.” I silently asked black bears to forgive me for blaming one of their kind.
Betsey continued to cry, startled by my screaming and Jonah’s yelling. I bounced her in my arms, speaking soothing words in Tsalagi.
After striding up and down the river’s edge, he satisfied himself the bear was gone. Seeking to distract him, I showed him the fresh peaches, offering him one.
“Need to finish talking with Ginny,” he said.
“She must leave for home,” I spoke up so my voice would carry. “She is needed there to pick more fruit.”
“Then give me one a them peaches.”
Betsey quieted herself, so I set her on the ground and washed the fruit. I saw Ginny walking across the yard toward the trail. I handed Jonah the peach, then lifted the baby to my hip, carrying another peach as I hurried after Ginny.
“To eat on your way home.” I spoke loudly as I presented it to her.
“Thank you, Missus,” she said, her eyes fixed on mine.
I knew what she was thanking me for. It was not the peach.
“He has no money,” I whispered.
When I returned to the riverbank, Jonah’s face was sticky with peach juice.
“I seen what you done,” he said, taking the last bite of the fruit, his eyes like those of a wild dog about to pounce. “Strap the baby on the papoose board.”
I squatted to lay Betsey on her cradle board, wrapping her snugly. I told her I would return soon and for her not to cry, speaking with my eyes as well as my mouth. Then I turned the board toward the river so she could not see Jonah use me in place of Ginny. I willed myself not to cry out, wishing to deny him his triumph.”
“That stinking pile of monkey vomit,” I said, looking at Pixie. “I’m sure you agree I can’t sit on my hands and do nothing.”
She flicked her tail in agreement.
~
This time, I didn’t have to park by the road. Instead, I pulled up in front of the cottage, leaving my car in the driveway since Nana and Jeannette were staying in Athens. I let myself in, set my backpack on the coffee table and pulled out Amadahy’s shoes. Not stylish exactly. But I felt good about adding a lift to the right one, hoping it would give her some relief.
