The Revenant

by Sonia Gensler

  I would never know.

  Chapter 31

  LIFE BARELY TOOK A BREATH before returning to its usual routine. There wasn’t time to mope and be wistful about the seminary. The vegetable garden and blackberry bushes were bearing at their peak, and thus Toomey and I had to spend every morning picking before the sun grew too hot.

  We never spoke much when we worked together, but this no longer bothered me. Strangely enough, I’d grown quite comfortable with Toomey. I now called him by first name to his face, for he seemed to deserve at least that much respect. He worked hard, straining and sweating, but there was a curious gentleness about him. He was tender with the vegetables and fruits, careful to brush the dirt off each item and set it carefully in his bucket to keep the flesh from bruising. I knew he took special pains so Mother would have less work in the kitchen. There was a tiny bit of romance in that man, after all.

  One humid August morning found Toomey and me struggling to finish picking before we drowned in our own sweat. While we worked, Hal and Freddy chased each other up and down the rows. They were meant to be pulling weeds but couldn’t keep their minds on the task. I didn’t blame them and certainly couldn’t complain about the breeze they struck up as they rushed by. Mother needed them out of the way while she put up preserves, and they couldn’t get into much trouble in the garden with Toomey keeping an eye on them.

  When I’d finished my last row of okra, I stood to stretch my back, removing my bonnet so the gentle rush of air could cool my damp head. As I faced the breeze, I saw a figure in the distance. A man in a wide-brimmed hat holding a jacket over his shoulder. He walked toward us on the dirt road, his feet sending up clouds of dust with each step. I shaded my eyes, trying to get a better look at him.

  “There’s a man coming up the road,” I said to Toomey. “Are you expecting anyone?”

  Toomey looked up and wiped his face with a filthy handkerchief. “Can’t say that I am.”

  I turned back to the road.

  And gasped.

  “Who is it? Who is it?” chanted the twins in unison, jumping up and down in an effort to see over the plants.

  Toomey rose to his feet with a groan and stood behind me. “Is that the boy from the river? The one who—”

  “The one who saved my life? Good Lord, it is. Eli Sevenstar.” I turned to stare at my stepfather. “What do I do? I look a fright!”

  Toomey grinned. “Go inside and wash your face, girl. I’ll greet the boy—he won’t care that I’m soaked in sweat. But you tell your mother and come right back out—he deserves some proper hospitality.”

  I set off toward the house in the fastest ladylike walk imaginable. As soon as the door slammed shut behind me, I broke into a run and took the stairs two at a time up to my room.

  “Willie?” Mother called up the stairs. “What in heaven’s name is wrong with you?”

  “We have a visitor! Gabriel says to offer him some hospitality.”

  I pulled off my gardening smock and sweat-drenched dress, sighing as the air touched the bare flesh of my arms. I poured water into the basin for a quick wash-up. Then I unpinned my hair and ran a brush through it. It was still damp, but at least it looked tidy when I pinned it back in place. I buttoned myself into a clean dress and pulled a fresh apron over my head, tying it around my waist. One more glance in the mirror and I was racing down the stairs.

  Mother stood in the front hall, fanning her overheated cheeks. Her eyes were dark, her mouth stern.

  “Who is this visitor, Willemina?”

  I hesitated. “It’s … Eli Sevenstar.”

  “The boy who brought you so much trouble at the seminary?”

  “I think it was the other way around.” I was itching to get back outside, but she looked so concerned that I reached for her hand. “Mother, I’d be dead if it weren’t for him.”

  She stared at me, eyes glistening. Then she pulled me close, her thin arms nearly squeezing the breath out of me. I didn’t mind. In fact, I leaned into the embrace, breathing in her scent of blackberry preserves. After a moment, her arms softened, and she let me go. We faced each other, smiling shyly, until finally she spun me around and gave a gentle shove toward the front door.

  Toomey and Eli were talking when I came down the porch steps. The twins were silent, standing close together and looking up with great concentration at Eli. Though he didn’t turn, Eli was conscious of my approach—it was obvious from the way his body straightened and his jaw grew rigid. Finally, as I drew near, he turned his head languidly and smiled. Then, as an afterthought, he took off his hat. His own hair was damp, his cheeks reddened by the heat. Those wide, dark eyes glittered with mischief. He was the best thing I’d seen in months, and despite the muggy heat, all I wanted was to fall into him and feel his arms around me.

  Toomey cleared his throat. I turned to find him frowning ever so slightly, his eyes thoughtful.

  “It’s hot as Hades out here,” he said. “I think it’d be a good idea to take the boys inside for lemonade. We’ll sit awhile on the back porch. Willie, why don’t you lead the young gentleman to a shady spot?”

  I grinned. “We’ll join you in a minute, Gabriel.”

  He tipped his hat and, taking a hand from each boy, walked toward the house. Hal craned his neck to stare at us, but when I made a face, his head snapped forward where it should have been. I turned to Eli, a sudden shyness setting in.

  He smiled. “Willie?”

  “Short for Willemina.”

  “Ah, yes, I remember my confusion when Mr. Toomey called out to you.”

  I laughed softly. “All those secret talks we had and you never once tried to call me by my first name.”

  “You never seemed like an Angeline to me.” He stared at me for a moment, then wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand. “It’s too hot to stand here for much longer.”

  “Of course,” I said, coming out of my daze. “Let’s walk through the orchard. Or do you want to go inside?”

  “I’d rather walk.” He looked as though he might offer his arm but then thought better of it. We walked side by side in silence.

  “How did you find me?” I finally asked.

  “I did a little sleuthing. Even Fannie didn’t know where you lived, and Miss Crenshaw would not tell me, so I asked around in Columbia.”

  I stared at him. “Did you come all this way … for me?”

  “I’m on my way to Nashville. I mean to study law at Vanderbilt.”

  “Yes, of course. I knew that. I mean, I knew you wanted to study law, I just didn’t know it was to be in Nashville. That’s … close.”

  “So close it seemed only polite to search you out.”

  We fell into awkward silence again. I reached for a branch and pulled off a leaf, just to have something to fiddle with. I turned to him, prepared to say anything to break the roaring silence, but he spoke first.

  “You lied to me.”

  His words were as sudden and sharp as a slap to the face. I fumbled for a response, but all I could do was bite my lip.

  “I mean, you lied to everyone,” he continued, “but you should have told me the truth. I always was honest with you.”

  I knew the betrayal he felt, for I’d endured it myself when he disappeared. But that pain had its source in the doctor’s lies. I had only myself to blame for the pain I’d caused.

  “I lied because I wanted to keep my position. My independence.”

  “Fannie said you were only pretending to be a Miss McClure. But your last name isn’t Toomey, either.”

  “No, it’s Hammond. Gabriel Toomey is my mother’s second husband.”

  He was quiet for a moment, as though digesting this information. “He seems like a good man, and you have a comfortable home here. Why pretend to be someone else?”

  I stared at the leaf, tracing the delicate veins with a shaky finger. “I was … unhappy. Mother needed me to quit school and help at home. So I stole someone’s teaching certificate in order to teach at the female semi
nary. I thought it was far enough away that no one would suspect I was only seventeen and not finished with my own schooling.”

  He shook his head. “I took you for a student the first time I saw you, remember?”

  “It seemed you found me a great deal more interesting when you learned I was a teacher. Sorry to disappoint.”

  “I just liked you.” He reached out and ran his finger along my hand. His head was down, but I could see his mouth curving into a shy smile.

  “I never understood why,” I said, staring at our hands as they touched. I would not take his hand, but neither could I draw mine away.

  “All this began with you staring at me on the train. I had to know more about such a bold girl.”

  I did pull my hand away then. “You’re teasing me.”

  “And now you’re being coy. I’ve been fascinated by you since the first moment I saw you, and you know it.” He chuckled. “ ‘That girl is an adventurer,’ I told myself.”

  “Turns out I was a liar, and I’m sorry for it. But if I hadn’t done such a foolish thing, I never would have met you.” I looked up into his wide brown eyes, marveling at the bold angles of his face, the way that lock of hair falling over his forehead made him look so boyish. I reached up to push the stray hair back into place, then let my fingers trail down his cheek. His hand gripped my wrist, pulling me closer. I’m not sure which of us moved first—it might have been me—but when our lips met, I pressed so tightly against him I thought to melt into the warmth of his body, hands, and mouth.

  Shame at such boldness caught up to me, and I broke the kiss. But he would not let me go. “Come to Nashville with me,” he whispered in my ear.

  I pulled back to look at his face. “What are you suggesting?”

  “Nothing untoward. We’ll find you a respectable boarding-house. I’ll go to the university, and you’ll go back to school. Fannie told me—very reluctantly, mind you—that you had the makings of a good teacher.”

  “And just who is going to pay for all this?”

  “I will, for as long as I can. Someday I’ll return to the Cherokee Nation with my law degree. My dream is to help protect my people. If you feel about me the way I feel for you, you could be part of that.”

  “How exactly do you feel about me?”

  He placed both hands on my face and kissed me gently. “I love you, Willie,” he murmured. Then he stepped back, staring at me intently. He reached into his pocket and knelt.

  A flush of heat rose from my chest to my face. “What are you doing?”

  He pulled out a delicate gold ring with a single pearl. “I came here with a specific purpose.” He took my hand. “Willemina Hammond, will you marry me?”

  Chapter 32

  FOR A MOMENT, I BASKED IN THE WARMTH of his touch, the glow of those words. Then a darker thought chilled me. “But I’m not Cherokee.”

  “That is a defect, but I’ll try not to hold it against you.” He smiled. “I’m not so traditional that I believe Cherokee should only marry Cherokee. I am not full-blood, after all.”

  I stared at him. “Oh, stand up. I feel foolish with you kneeling before me.” He obliged, pulling me to him for another kiss, but I held him off. “You said I could play a part in helping your people. What use would I be?”

  “You could teach.”

  I bit my lip. “Miss Crenshaw would never have me back.”

  “Who said anything about Miss Crenshaw? The female seminary is a fine school, but best suited to girls with money and progressive ideals. Most rural families can’t afford to send their children away to a boarding school, even when the Cherokee Nation pays their tuition. And these families don’t want their children to become strangers. We need schools that encourage children to keep their Cherokee language and traditions. You could teach at such a school. And someday you might train others to teach.” He paused, frowning. “Everything is changing so fast. There’s talk of the territory becoming a state, and the U.S. government parceling out the land that the Cherokee have held in common since the removal. We have a fight on our hands, Willie.”

  “You’ve thought a lot about this.”

  He laughed. “It’s been a long summer.”

  I thought of myself in a schoolroom with girls like Lucy and Mae who were fierce, smart, and weary of being teased for their brown skin and country ways—girls who didn’t want to trade their language and traditions for a good education.

  “Will you give me your answer, Willie?”

  I looked up at him. “You want me to come with you now?”

  “Today, this very minute. I want you to pack a bag and walk with me to town. We’ll catch the train to Nashville.” He smiled. “I’ll put it to your stepfather and mother, so it’s all aboveboard. I can be very persuasive, you know.”

  Oh, how I wanted to be with him. The thought of him walking away without me was like contemplating the loss of a limb, or the possibility I’d never be warm again. More than one untoward thought entered my head as I imagined us free to show our affection for each other, no one frowning at the idea of Eli courting me.

  But then I heard my mother’s voice in my head, telling me that my impatience was overruling my good sense. That I was running away yet again. And Miss Crenshaw? She would speak of responsibility to family. I thought of the lessons with my brothers and how much progress we made each day. And little Christabel, who was sitting up and would be crawling soon. Before long, she’d take her first unsteady steps. Who would be there to catch her? To kiss her knees when she scraped them?

  “I can’t.”

  He took a step back. “I thought you wanted to be with me.”

  “I do, Eli. I love you most dreadfully.”

  His frown softened slightly. “Well, then why not come away with me? Is it … because I’m Indian?”

  “No! It’s not that at all.” I clutched his arm and pulled him close again. “A minute ago, I was worried about not being Cherokee, you idiot.” I put my hand to his cheek, smoothing the hard line of his jaw. “I made a promise to my mother—a promise that I would help at home for a year.”

  “But I’m sure she would understand and be happy for you.”

  I dropped my hand, frowning. “I lied and thieved to get away from this farm, to avoid my responsibilities. I need to put in my time. I want to put in my time.”

  “That sounds like penance. Why should you have to suffer?”

  “It’s not penance. Not really. My mother needs me. I have two little brothers and a baby sister—they need me too. I can’t leave them … again. Not when we’ve just started to feel like a family. Perhaps next fall I can think about myself again.”

  He held my gaze. Finally, he nodded. “I understand … and I do admire you for it.” He wove his fingers through mine, tightening his grip. “How do you manage it?”

  “Manage what?”

  “Make me love you even more by telling me we can’t be together?”

  I squeezed his hand. “We are still so young, Eli. After teaching almost a year at the seminary, I felt old and worn out. But I am only eighteen. I think … I have some growing up to do.” I smiled. “I hope you’ll still find me fascinating when I’m more ‘seasoned,’ as Miss Crenshaw would say.”

  He sighed. “I suppose it was selfish of me to try whisking you away. I’ve been anxious about leaving home to attend university. It seemed more like an adventure if you were beside me.” His mouth curved into a sad smile. “But we will be together, won’t we?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll write to me?”

  I put my hand to his cheek once again. “Only if you promise to visit as often as you can.”

  “I’ll be knocking on your door every chance I get. In fact, I’ll keep knocking until you finally agree to come away with me.”

  “I’m counting on that,” I whispered.

  Then he pulled me into his arms again, and I left off the thinking and worrying. Instead, I let my body memorize the softness of his lips, the pressure of his arms wrapp
ed around me and his body pressed to mine. My skin breathed him in, receiving his imprint like a brand scorched on flesh.

  I could live a year for others. This was for me.

  That night, after I’d put the twins to bed and watched them fall asleep, I sat in the rocking chair and closed my eyes. In my mind I saw the bookshelves full of Papa’s favorite plays and novels, the floor littered with the scripts he was always consulting, revising, or criticizing as nothing better than kindling for the fire. I saw the whorl of pipe smoke rising in the air, the scent of it acrid and sweet at the same time. The smell of whiskey had been one of many comforting scents associated with Papa, but now I did not try to recall it. That whiskey had driven my mother to despair and had proved his undoing.

  So I sat and remembered my papa’s passion for words, his tales of fame on the stage, his dreams of a gentlemanly retirement with an adoring wife and a daughter who, with proper schooling, would catch a fine husband. He’d been a dreamer rather than a doer—hell for my mother, but I saw too much of myself in Papa not to forgive him that.

  I thought of all Papa’s good qualities, meditating upon all the moments we spent together, drenching myself in memories. It was like holding my very own séance. I was channeling my father’s spirit—I could almost feel him in the room, see him sitting in his chair by the fire, looking up from a book to smile, or to read some wondrous or preposterous passage to me.

  I opened my eyes. “Papa?” I whispered. “Are you here with me?”

  Aside from the deep breathing of my brothers, there was only silence. I felt no tingle on the back of my neck, no prickling of gooseflesh on my arms. No tortured spirit chilled the room with its ache for vengeance. It was only me, two snoring boys, and my memories.

  And that was enough.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  The Revenant is a work of fiction, but the setting was very real. Early in the nineteenth century, President Andrew Jackson pressured the Cherokee Nation to relocate from Georgia to what is now northeastern Oklahoma. A small group of wealthy Cherokee, seeing removal as inevitable, signed a treaty agreeing to sell all Cherokee lands east of the Mississippi in return for a large tract of land in Indian Territory. But the majority of Cherokee, who never agreed to this treaty and considered it illegal, were forcibly removed, along with other tribes, as part of a devastating migration often referred to as the Trail of Tears. The Cherokee Nation proved resilient, however, and ultimately established a flourishing capital in Tahlequah. The Cherokee National Female Seminary (as it is officially called) opened in 1851, remaining in operation until 1909. The original seminary building burned down in 1887, but the subsequent building, completed in 1889, still stands as the historic centerpiece of the Northeastern State University campus.