He bent over her, resting on his elbows, his hardness pushing against her belly. “There is no one out here to marry us,” he told her. “We will be married the Indian way. We will simply be one and you will be my wife.”
A tear of joy slipped down the side of her face. She reached up to touch the thin white scar on his handsome face. “I know of no greater honor than to be the wife of Caleb Sax,” she whispered. “I will love you forever, Caleb.”
He bent closer, nibbling at her lips. “And I love you, Marie,” he whispered.
His lips kissed her throat, her breasts again, and he took pleasure in their fullness, feeling somehow comforted when he nuzzled into them. Then he seemed to be everywhere, touching, kissing, his fingers moving into private places and setting her on fire, working some kind of magic that made her lose any remaining inhibition, making her want him as she had never wanted anything in her life. He began probing her until suddenly the pain hit her as he entered, pushing hard. It had been a long time for him. It was difficult to be gentle, and she cried out with pain, but he surged into her over and over, partly out of love, partly out of need, partly from pure anger over all the loss he had known. Soon his life was pouring into her and he was suddenly spent.
He held her close, relaxing beside her and laying his face against her soft breasts. To his surprise his tears came suddenly, tears he should have shed years before but had not. Caleb realized he had finally faced the fact that Sarah was gone and he had to go on with life. He wept.
Marie cradled him against her and stroked his hair, saying nothing. She understood.
Sarah looked up as her aunt walked into her room, using a cane for support. The woman was suffering from a crippling pain in her joints that made it difficult for her to walk or bend her fingers. Sarah stared at her coldly as she moved closer, dressed completely in black, the taffeta rustling in the otherwise silent room. It was the spring of 1819 and Terrence Sax had just been buried.
“How are you feeling today, Sarah?”
Sarah looked down at her own thin white hand. “If I could stop shaking every time I get up I would be able to walk.”
“In time, dear. You’ve improved so much.”
Sarah looked away. It was difficult to be kind these days. She felt only cold and empty.
“Perhaps in time you will be strong enough to visit your father’s grave. It’s only proper—”
“I’ll never visit his grave,” Sarah snapped. “And don’t call him my father. Tom Sax was my father!”
The woman sighed deeply, blinking back tears and turning away. “I may need your help, Sarah. It seems many banks are closing and several of your father’s —your uncle’s—businesses folded before he died. I suppose that’s partly what killed him, on top of seeing what forcing you to marry Byron did to you.” She sniffed and dabbed her eyes. “At any rate, there’s not all that much money left, and I’m not very good at handling such things. The house is ours free and clear, thank the Lord. You are, of course, welcome to stay here as long as you like.”
Sarah laid her head back against the pillow. “I don’t see that I have much choice, Aunt Mary. I’m still not well enough to do otherwise, and even if I were, where would I go? What would I do? I have nothing left to live for. Caleb Sax was all I wanted, and you and Uncle Terrence took him from me.”
The woman sobbed. “I disagreed. I’ve told you that so many times.” She wiped her eyes again. “Oh, Sarah, what’s happened to you? You were always so sweet.”
Sarah kept her eyes closed. “Sweet? It did me a lot of good to be sweet. How can you expect me not to be changed, Aunt Mary? You let me marry that animal. He killed my baby, Caleb’s baby. I can’t prove it, but I know he did. And he destroyed Caleb’s necklace. I nearly died having the baby, and that—that doctor he hired gave me something that only made me sicker.” She opened her eyes and looked at the old woman. “Do you know what it’s like to fall asleep and wake up two years later? To find you’ve aged two years, your husband has divorced you because you no longer have enough money for him, and remember the horrors that got you into the situation to begin with? Then I was in bed for another year struggling to even get out of that bed.” She smiled bitterly. “I don’t even know why I’m trying to get better. What in God’s name do I have to get well for? Tell me, Aunt Mary. Why should I ever get out of this bed?”
The woman took a deep breath, then exhaled as though exhausted. “For yourself, Sarah, and for Caleb Sax. If he truly loved you he would not have wanted to see you this way. This is not the Sarah he loved.”
“Well he isn’t here to love me, so it doesn’t much matter, does it?”
Mary was once again tempted to tell her that Caleb Sax had not been killed that fateful day, that there was a remote chance he was still alive. But Sarah was bitter enough, and Mary needed the girl, especially now that her joint disease was getting worse. If she angered Sarah further she might leave when she was well enough and Mary would be alone.
“It does matter, Sarah. To yourself, to God, to Caleb’s memory—and your mother’s. Do it for them if nothing else.”
“Just go away, Aunt Mary. I can never mourn Uncle Terrence. Don’t ever ask me to visit his grave again.”
Sarah watched the woman slowly walk from the room, a tiny spark of pity flaring deep in her soul. What must life have been like for the woman, married to a man she knew never loved her as much as he had loved someone else, a man who had raped for that love and then expected the woman he married to live with and accept what he had done? Mary Sax must surely have loved Terrence very much to put up with the pompous, hyprocritical man. Sarah could not imagine why, but whatever the reason, Mary had remained devoted to him.
The door closed and Sarah turned on her side. She was only twenty-two but felt old beyond her years. What lay ahead for her now? The only good thing that had happened was that she was rid of Byron Clawson. He had divorced her quickly when he learned Terrence Sax had nothing left to offer. He was nearly broke at his death. The country’s economy had crumbled and so had Terrence Sax. Nothing had come of his plans for a wonderful life for his daughter who would always despise him.
* * *
It took more than a year after the Panic of 1819 for the news to reach the frontier settlements. It was early in 1821 when several white men rode into the Cherokee settlement, stopping at each farm with the news. When they reached the Whitestone farm Caleb hurried to his own cabin to get his musket. Marie sat in a rocker nursing their three-week-old son, John, born in early March. She watched Caleb pick up his musket.
“What is it?”
“I’m not sure. Several men are coming. You stay in the house.”
She watched him go, knowing that whatever happened her husband would protect them all. She got up from the rocker with some effort, still heavy from the pregnancy. She went to the door, opening it slightly to look out and listen. John sucked at her breast, oblivious to any trouble, and Caleb walked out to greet the men.
“You James Whitestone?” one of them asked.
“No. I am Caleb Sax, his son-in-law. James is out in the fields.”
The man who had spoken looked around, assessing the cabins and outbuilding and fine horses in Caleb’s corrals. “Those mustangs for sale?”
“Some. You need horses?”
The man scratched his chin, looking down at Caleb haughtily. His clothes were obviously well made, rugged clothes designed for this land but bought in more civilized places.
“I only thought they might help pay off your father-in-law’s debt.”
“Debt?”
“To the government.” The man put out his hand. “I’m Philip Rand, official representative for Howard McKenzie, one of the few businessmen in Saint Louis who has managed to survive the Panic.”
Caleb felt a stab of pain at the mention of Saint Louis. “Panic? What do you mean?” He slowly reached up and shook the man’s hand.
“I mean that most of the banks have fallen, Mr. Sax, and many wealthy men hav
e gone out of business. Those who have survived are doing their best to bail out people like your father-in-law. Mr. Whitestone signed a paper when he left Georgia promising to settle out here and give up his citizenship in Georgia.”
“I understand none of this. Wait here and I will get James.” He eyed them warily, then walked back to the house, handing his musket to Marie. “Stay inside,” he told her. “If they do anything threatening, fire this so I hear you. I don’t think they are dangerous, but I’m not certain why they are here.”
She took the gun, looking worried. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Do not worry. Whatever it is, we will manage.”
He turned and walked over to mount his horse and rode out to find James, wondering what this new trouble might be. For once he had found some peace. He was happy here with the Cherokee, happy with Marie, who loved him devotedly, never turning him away in the night, never failing to set a good meal on the table or be there when he needed her. Life had taken on meaning for him again. At twenty-seven he had finally found some purpose to life. His back seldom bothered him anymore, and the inner scars were healing. Nine-year-old Tom was healthy and growing, becoming a friend besides a son, and now he had a second son whom he loved dearly. What more could a man want? There was a time when it had seemed he had nothing left at all to live for, but he hoped those times were behind him.
As he rode up to James, Tom and Lee stopped their hoeing.
“Some men are here,” Caleb told James, “saying something about owing the government money and banks folding. They want to talk to you.”
He put out his hand and James took it, climbing up onto the back of Caleb’s horse. Caleb headed back, while Tom and Lee ran behind him to see what was happening. When Caleb and James reached the strangers, they introduced themselves and dismounted. Philip Rand also dismounted, shaking James’ hand.
“Like I told Mr. Sax here, I’m representative for Howard McKenzie of Saint Louis. There has been a panic, Mr. Whitestone. A great many people have gone out of business, banks have folded, and the government is calling in money due on land loans like yours. You left Georgia with an understanding that you would settle the land and buy it for two dollars an acre. You had ten years to start paying on it. I believe you asked for, uh…” He took out a piece of paper and unfolded it. “One thousand acres. Have you claimed that much, Mr. Whitestone?”
James Whitestone blinked. “Yes. But I do not farm it all. I have only been here a few years—”
“That would come to two thousand dollars. The government is asking that all monies be paid within six months. Do you have two thousand dollars, Mr. Whitestone?”
James looked helplessly at Caleb, who frowned angrily at Rand.
“Of course he does not have that kind of money. You said yourself that the government agreed he could start paying for the land in ten years. Even then it is to be in payments, not two thousand dollars at once.”
Rand sighed as though irritated by their ignorance. “I’m afraid Mr. Whitestone failed to read the fine print of his agreement,” he replied, “as did many others. The fine print says the government can demand the money after five years if there is a need. Times are bad, Mr. Sax. Now Mr. McKenzie understands that most of you frontier settlers would never have that kind of money, so he’s willing to help you out by paying the debt himself. Of course, the land would be his then.”
Caleb’s blue eyes turned icy. This was another of the white man’s many tricks. They had not changed. “And where does that leave us?” he demanded.
“Well, McKenzie would be happy to let you stay here and farm the land just like you have been doing—for a share of the profits, of course. He would set up a trade line, send wagons for the crops and sell them or horses for you, give you a share of—”
“We would be his slaves, in other words,” Caleb interrupted.
Rand bristled. “Certainly not.”
“It is the same thing. Do not try to twist things, Mr. Rand. We understand exactly what you are telling us. We may stay here as slaves if we sell to his man McKenzie, or we can just get out and hope to survive someplace else.”
Rand had to look up at Caleb, who towered over him. “What is your interest in this, Mr. Sax? You don’t look like a Cherokee, you aren’t even all Indian. I never saw a blue-eyed Indian before.”
“I am part Cheyenne, not Cherokee. But I am married to a Cherokee woman and these people are family to me now.”
Rand sniffed pompously. “Well, McKenzie is very kindly helping your ‘family’ out. You people are lucky the government gave you such a good deal in the first place, considering the fact that some argue whether Indians should be allowed to own land at all. The government’s intentions were generous and sympathetic when they contracted with the Cherokee who chose to leave Georgia. They had no idea the economy would fall.”
“And what about the Cherokee who stayed?” James asked with concern. “How is it now for them?”
Rand reddened slightly, swallowing. “Not good,” he answered. “Some are already heading into land farther west of here. Those who refuse to leave and fight removal through the courts will lose in the end, Mr. Whitestone. If they don’t leave Georgia peacefully they’ll be forced out.”
“The land west of here is not worth much. It will be hard for them.”
“That is no concern of mine. At least it will be free.”
“And you are telling us to go there?”
The man shrugged. “If you choose to leave here I think it is a good suggestion. Several of the other settlers have expressed a desire to do just that.”
Caleb quelled a temptation to hit the man. “Well, we will have to discuss what we want to do.”
“Will this Mr. Mckenzie pay us for the land?”
Rand smiled mockingly. “Pay you? He is paying off your debt, Mr. Whitestone, a debt you haven’t paid a dime against. Why should he pay you?”
“We have worked hard here, broken the ground for him, spent money on supplies to get out here, cut trees for the cabins and buildings, put much sweat and toil into the earth. It will be easier for the next man. Surely that is worth something.”
“You’re being offered completely free land farther west, Mr. Whitestone. That’s your payment. However, Mister McKenzie did say to tell you people that a man named Moses Austin was in Missouri not long ago looking for people to settle in Texas. It’s a province of Mexico, and anyone who lives there must abide by the Mexican laws. But the land is free, and you would be living among fellow Americans. Austin went there after being bankrupted by the Panic, but when he returned to ask people to go back with him, he died. His son, Stephen, carried on his father’s plans and has taken a number of people to Texas with him to a settlement on the Brazos River called San Felipe de Austin. There’s a regular little city built up there, I hear, and it’s the central meeting place for Americans who want to settle there. They’re mostly whites, but considering the circumstances and the needs, I’m sure anyone would be welcome.”
Caleb sighed disgustedly, turning and looking back toward the cabin, catching the sadness in Marie’s eyes. She did not want to leave either. He looked back at Rand. “How soon does this McKenzie want us off the land?”
“As soon as possible. Of course, considering the time element out here it would be several months before he could resell the land or do whatever else he wishes with it.”
“How do we even know he will pay off the debt?” Caleb asked. “Or that anything you tell us is true?”
Rand turned to his horse and took several papers from his saddlebags. He handed Caleb newspapers with headlines about the panic, as well as public notices posted by the government and banks notifying people that all land loans were due immediately. He also handed him a paper signed by McKenzie stating that he would in good faith pay off the money owed by James Whitestone. “Is that enough proof? You do read, don’t you?”
Caleb rolled up the papers and shoved them back at Rand. “I can read. We are not ignorant savages, Mr. Rand.
Some of us can even spell our names.” He turned and walked away. “We will leave, Rand. Tell your Mister McKenzie he can find someone else to be his slaves.”
The Whitestones and Saxes sat around the table studying crude maps.
“This is not such a good map Rand left us,” Caleb told them. “But it looks as though San Felipe de Austin is directly south, perhaps five hundred miles.”
“That’s a long way, Caleb, through hostile country. Comanche are in that land.”
“A little farther west than south. I don’t think there are so many directly south.” He looked at Marie. “What do you think?”
“I go wherever my husband goes. I am not afraid.” Their eyes held, and she knew his fear that he would lose loved ones again.
Caleb looked back at James. “I want to go to this new land. I feel drawn there. Wherever the government sends Indians you can bet the land is not good, so I do not think we should go west. Cherokee are not the only ones they will send. There will be Choctaw, Creek and other eastern Indians being pushed out here. Eventually the Plains Indians may even be forced somewhere. I love my people, not just the Cheyenne but also the Cherokee. Even the Indians we call enemy will one day be called friend in a common cause. But I also love my wife and my sons, and being free to do what I wish with my life. Indian removal by the white man’s government will bring trouble, more government problems and tricks, and more men like Howard McKenzie. With the Indians will come the whiskey peddlers and cheating traders. I have had enough trouble in my life. I want to go to Texas, to this new settlement where the land is free and good and we can do what we please without worrying about it being taken from us.”
“What about the Mexican government? Could they take the land from us?”
Caleb leaned back in his chair, taking a puff from the pipe he had lit. Earlier, after his temper had cooled, he had gone back out to talk to Rand more about the land in Texas, at which time he was given the crudely drawn maps. He looked at the map again. Marie watched her husband, trusting any decision he would make.
Savage Horizons Page 36
