by Vicki Vass
“You know your history,” John Blackbear said.
“Thank you,” CC said. She prided herself on knowing all manner of history.
They pulled up in front of the tribal council house, a large circular, windowless building situated on top of a mound. A stream ran next to it. The walls were made of saplings woven together and plastered with mud. Inside, there were animal skins on the floor and a roaring fire in the center with smoke rising up through the opening in the ceiling.
“We try to make the council house as authentic as possible,” John Blackbear said. “Come sit by the fire and get warm. I’ll get you some dry clothes.”
A Cherokee woman returned carrying two dresses manufactured from a calico print with triangles and circles and the seven-sided star of the Cherokee. “My Cherokee name is Standing Deer but you can call me Sue. Here are some dry clothes.” She was wearing a similar dress and Minnetonka moccasins.
“These are beautiful. Where can I buy one of these?” Anne held the dress up.
“We sell them in the gift shop. They are called tear dresses. They are the style of dress that our women wore during the Trail of Tears when they no longer had access to scissors because the government took them. The fabric was torn from larger pieces and then sewn together.”
When she left, Anne and CC put on the dresses and laid out their wet clothes in front of the fire to dry. John Blackbear opened the deerskin that covered the entrance and walked in. “You look very good,” he said, staring at Anne.
Anne did a slight curtsey and gave him a smile.
John Blackbear managed a smile back. “I’ve contacted a local mechanic who will pick up your car later. You are welcome to stay here. We have a guesthouse.”
“Couldn’t we just stay here tonight? The fire is so inviting,” Anne said.
“That would be fine if you are comfortable. I’ve asked Sue to bring you some food. Please sit.”
“Chief Blackbear, I’ve noticed you are wearing your ceremonial clothes,” CC said, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
“Yes, we were reenacting the Nuwtiegwa, the festival of the October new moon. We had to stop because of the rain.” He paused before explaining. “The Cherokee believe the earth was created at this time. This is when our new year begins.” He handed Anne and CC each a crystal. “During this festival, each member of the tribe looks into the crystal to see if they will live through the next year. If they see themselves standing as they look into the stone, they will live. If they appear flat, they will die before the first spring moon.”
“What did you see?” Anne asked.
“I saw that I met a very attractive maiden.”
Anne looked at CC and then back at Chief Blackbear. He was still looking at her. She looked into her crystal and didn’t see anything. Sue returned to the lodge, carrying bags from Taco Bell. “Is this part of the ceremonial food?” Anne asked giggling.
John Blackbear smiled again. As they sat cross-legged in front of the fire eating their ceremonial Chalupas, John Blackbear explained more about his people’s culture. “My people believe that certain beings came down from on high and formed the world, the moon and the stars. It was believed that the world was created at the time of the new moon in autumn. The Cherokees believe that the morning star was once a wicked priest who killed people by witchcraft. When the Cherokee planned to kill him, he took all of his crystals and flew to the sky where he now appears as the morning star. Our tribe had the original morning star crystal. It was a natural seven-pointed quartz like our Cherokee emblem. It had been with our people for a thousand years. My people believed it had great power. They used it during the October ceremony at morning’s first light, which is the first day of the New Year. The chief would hold it up in the early morning light and it would shine like the morning star from the light of the sun. When it shined on the council house, it would make a perfect seven-pointed Cherokee star. This crystal was our greatest treasure.” He gestured to their hands. “The crystals you hold are copies.”
“Could we see the original morning star?” Anne asked.
“It was stolen many years ago. I do have a painting of it.” They walked to the other side of the fire. On the wall was an early 1800s woodblock etching of a young Indian maiden holding a large seven-pointed crystal up toward the sun. “Look.” John Blackbear pointed at the crystal. “You can see its imperfections here. Each crystal is unique. Their imperfections are like fingerprints. These are the original fingerprints of our people.”
Anne peered at it closely. “I can see it. They are unique. May I take a picture?”
John nodded his permission. Anne took out her iPhone and zoomed in on the crystal. She snapped a few photos.
CC stifled a yawn. It had been a long drive filled with many adventures. As John Blackbear continued his stories, she lay down, covered herself with a deerskin blanket and fell asleep.
Anne sat cross-legged in front of John Blackbear, listening intently. She thought how handsome he was. She didn’t really hear what he was saying but admired his many colorful feathers and his silver jewelry. She wondered if there were similar pieces in the gift shop. She would have to check on that in the morning.
“Anne,” she heard. It broke her trance.
“Yes, John? I mean, Chief?”
“Anne, you can call me John. You look like you were falling asleep. Do you wish to lay down?”
“No, I want to hear more. It’s fascinating.”
“We don’t want to wake your friend. The rain has stopped. My house is a short walk away. We can talk more there.” He stood up and lowered his hand. Anne placed her hand in his. He had very strong hands. He nearly lifted her off the ground. Nigel had never been quite strong enough to lift her and his hands were long and bony and rather smooth, just the opposite of John Blackbear’s.
They walked along a stone path that led from the council house past the gift shop and through a canopy of birch trees. Now that the rains had stopped, the sky was washed with stars and the moon highlighted the walk. John Blackbear walked next to Anne, nearly a foot taller than her. His sleeveless vest accented his muscles that rippled as his arms moved. She thought he couldn’t be much older than her. Maybe in his forties. He was probably married but she hadn’t noticed any wedding rings but then she thought do Cherokee wear wedding rings? She longed for cell service so she could Google it.
As they entered the clearing, she expected to see a teepee. Instead she saw a beautiful 6,000 square-foot, three-story log cabin with two giant oak trees for pillars. The double front door was eight feet wide and ten feet tall. Anne stopped in her tracks and looked up. “Ohmigod, what is this?”
“This is my home. You were expecting a teepee?”
Anne smiled. “Of course not. But. . .”
“We also operate a very large casino, very profitable.” He opened the door for Anne. She walked into an entryway that soared up three stories. All the walls were hand-cut timber from the Smoky Mountains and carved with Indian totems. “These tell the story of my people,” he said.
As they walked into the great room, there was a huge fieldstone fireplace that took up the entire length of the wall. John picked up a remote off a table, hit a button and the fire burst to life. “This is absolutely beautiful,” Anne said.
“Come sit; I’ll get us something to drink.”
Anne sat on the long leather couch. She felt the fabric. It felt like the softest, buttery Coach leather purse. There were antiques, not just traditional Cherokee but Smoky Mountain mining and farming tools. There was also a Remington painting of wild stallions and one of an Indian scout. She got up to look at it closer and saw it was an original Remington. Before she could finish the last part of her “Holy. . .” John Blackbear returned wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. His dark thick black hair was tied back in a ponytail. He was carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses. He placed them on the tree trunk coffee table and opened the wine.
“You have a very good eye,” Anne said. “I’ve seen Remi
ngtons like that in the Museum of the West.”
“My wife decorated the house. She is a collector of antiques and has a very good eye for such things. I built the house.”
As he poured Anne a glass of wine, she downed it. Chief Blackbear answered the question she was dreading to ask. John filled his glass and sat down next to Anne. “The house was built by local craftsmen. The trees were harvested from felled trees. There are strict laws in the Smoky Mountains about harvesting timber. The land belongs to the Cherokee but we respect the mountains and only take what we need.” He took a sip of his wine. “It took three years to build this house.”
“We’re not going to wake your wife, are we?” Anne asked.
“Not unless she can hear us from L.A.”
“Is she on a trip?”
“No, she lives there with her new husband.”
Anne sighed in relief.
“We were divorced two years ago.”
Anne motioned with her empty glass. He filled it again. This time she sipped it. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be. It was a very amicable divorce. We’re still friends.” John Blackbear glanced at her bare left hand and asked, “How about you? I noticed you’re not wearing a ring.”
“Oh, no; I’m not married. I’ve never been married. I’ve devoted myself to my career.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m an antique hunter.” She paused. “I’m a chemist, too, but that’s part time. I devote my life to antique hunting. In fact, that’s what brought us to North Carolina. We’re heading to Hickory. We’ve been commissioned to find musical antiques and vintage instruments for a client. We’re heading to Nashville eventually but I wanted to stop at the antique mall in Hickory.”
John held up his finger to motion wait a minute and walked out. When he returned, he was carrying a Gibson 1910 mandolin.
“That’s beautiful.” Anne held it up and studied it.
“It was a gift. I don’t play. You can have it for your collection.”
“I couldn’t possibly. Do you know how much this is worth?”
“Please, I want you to have it.”
Lost in her excitement, she leaned over and kissed John on the cheek. “Thank you so much!” She stopped and realized that she had kissed a complete stranger and looked shocked.
John pulled her in and kissed her on her lips.
Chapter Nine
CC rolled over and stretched. The fire had died down to embers. She felt the warmth of the morning sun as it cascaded through the smoke opening of the council house. She gave a big yawn. She had slept really well. She hoped Anne had been able to sleep also. She looked over and Anne was not there.
She stood up, stretched her legs. She changed into her dry clothes and walked out of the council house. It was a rather warm October morning but still she could smell winter coming. The sun warmed her skin. She looked around and saw the costume adorned Cherokee preparing for a day full of tourists. She recognized Sue and walked over. “Good morning, Sue. Have you seen my friend, Anne?”
“I have not seen her since last night.”
CC went into the small coffee shop, adjacent to the village. She sat down at the counter and ordered a cup of coffee. She finished it and spun around on the stool in time to see Anne walking up the path of birches. She was still wearing her tear dress. CC ran out to greet her. Anne’s hair was disheveled. She was wearing a colorful feather in her hair and a smile. “Anne, where have you been? I was worried sick.”
“So worried that you couldn’t wait to have breakfast with me?”
“I needed some caffeine so I could go search for you. You’re up early?”
The smile Anne was wearing grew wider.
“Why are you smiling?”
“I had a very nice night.”
“I slept well, too.”
“I didn’t sleep.”
“What are you talking about? Why do you have a feather in your hair?”
Anne reached up and pulled the feather out. She had forgotten that John Blackbear had put it there. “We should get going if we’re going to make Hickory. The van’s been fixed and paid for.”
“What do you mean paid for?”
“John took care of it.”
They walked to the parking lot where the VW was waiting. They climbed in and headed back down the mountain and to Hickory.
As CC drove, Anne pulled out her iPhone and looked at the photos she’d taken of the morning star crystal. “I’d really like to find this for John.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I think you were asleep by then but John was telling me about his tribe’s crystal. It was used in the October New Year ceremony. It was stolen a long time ago.”
“When we stop tonight,” said CC, “I’m going to blog about the reservation and everything that happened. You can mention the crystal and we can upload the pictures.”
“That’s a great idea, CC; we can also post pictures of the mandolin.”
“Mandolin?”
Anne reached into the back and pulled up the case. She opened it and showed CC the 1910 Gibson sunburst mandolin. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
CC took a sideways glance. “Where’d you find that?”
“It was in the village.”
“How much was it?”
“Very reasonable. Betsy will be pleased.”
“When we get to the antique mall, let’s remember our priority is to find pieces for Betsy. If we come across other items for fans on our list that we can buy, that’s fine. The priority is Betsy, right?”
Anne stared at the picture of the morning star crystal. She thought about John and then she thought about Nigel. What was she going to tell Nigel? It wasn’t that they were exclusive or that they were even serious, but she should have told Nigel about her feelings before she left. She’d left him hanging like she had for the past year. He was such a sweet man she didn’t want to hurt him. She would have to call him later.
Chapter Ten
Anne was a little disappointed at the exterior of the Hickory Antiques Mall. It wasn’t quaint, it wasn’t charming; it looked like an abandoned K-Mart without a soul. It was a big glass storefront building with poorly painted white aluminum and a big ugly sign that read Hickory Antiques Mall.
“This place had good reviews on Yelp. Let’s get past the façade of the building.” Anne pulled out her notebook that contained all the requests from their fans. It was color coded according to style and era and price. Since the Chicago Tribune article heralded them as heroes for solving the “Estate Sale Murders,” the Spoon Sisters’ blog had reached more than 50,000 fans––some from as far away as Europe and the Middle East.
Anne followed CC into the shop. Amidst the turn of the century dressers, there was an original Globe Wernicke 1930s barrister bookcase. Anne looked at the four-stack mahogany case. The wood had been restored to its original finish. At $575, it was an average price, but she knew CC would not make room for it in the bus. In the corner next to the bookcase, was an old green glass stand-up ashtray. Its base was cast metal. A brass dragon swooped over the jadeite bowl. She inspected it, and it appeared to be an art deco original. She checked her list; Clyde from Romeoville was looking for an antique ashtray for his man cave. She snapped a picture and texted it to him.
CC came over to look. She was holding a Sunbeam wooden basket that had been used to deliver bread in the 1930s. “Anne, I think I’m going to get this for my photo supplies,” she said. “I have something else to show you.”
CC grabbed Anne and pulled her over to a small table in the corner where a very large man sat on a very small wooden stool. In front of him, there were several cigarette cards that resembled modern day baseball cards. There was also other tobacco memorabilia including cigarette lighters, tobacco tins, cigar boxes and ashtrays.
The man looked like Burl Ives except a little less friendly. “Anne, do you see what I see?” CC pointed. The cigarette cards on display depicted Native Ameri
cans. One card had a picture of John L. Sullivan, the famous heavyweight champion boxer. But the one that got CC’s heart pumping was the 1887 Allen & Ginter card of Adrian Cap Anson, a famous baseball player in the 1880s. It was an N28, the rarest available. It depicted the Chicago White Stockings/Colts player in his uniform, bat in hand. Even though the card was far from perfect, it was almost impossible to find. All the cards on the table ranged from the late 1880s to the 1930s.
Mr. Ives smiled when he saw CC recognize the Cap Anson card.
CC knew that he knew that she knew what it was worth. All the cards were enclosed in protective sleeves. “May I take a closer look at the Cap?”
“Honey, please, go right ahead. Be gentle.” He kept a watchful eye on her as she slid it out of its protective covering.
CC turned it over gently in her hands. “It’s remarkable. How did you come across all these cards?”
“They’re on consignment from one of my long-time customers and friend, Randall Bement.”
CC replaced the card and did a mental inventory. She estimated what she thought she could pay compared to what she could sell them for. Then she remembered someone on her list who collected tobacco memorabilia. The whole collection would be perfect for him. ‘Excuse us for a moment.” She pulled Anne to the corner by the Coke machine.
She pulled out her iPhone 6 plus and texted Dr. Sherwin, a pulmonologist from Massachusetts who collected smoking memorabilia. “Anne, these cards would be remarkable for his office. He could frame them and display them.” She texted the pictures that she had taken of the cards and sent them to Dr. Sherwin.
Anne’s phone vibrated. Clyde had responded that he wanted the ashtray but for no more than $150. Perhaps they could strike a deal if CC bought the tobacco memorabilia. Dr. Sherwin texted CC back with the message, “Buy at any price.”
CC and Anne walked back towards Mr. Ives, smiling. The song “Silver and Gold” played through CC’s head. She tried to shake the tune but couldn’t. “I’m CC Muller, by the way; this is my friend, Anne Hillstrom.”
