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“He sleeps – at last,” said Uriah, pouring himself a cup of tea and then taking a seat near the warm hearth in Mahala’s small sitting room.
“You look tired,” Caleb said, laying his book aside. “Go to bed, I’ll see to him.”
“I will, in a little while. I tell you, brother, my greatest fear is that he’ll be off somewhere alone when the fever comes. It consumes him so. How could he survive without someone to see he takes water and food?”
“He survived alone for seven months, and in the circumstances of war. He is more resourceful than you think.”
“Is he? In the war, he would have endured anything to come home to Hester. Now Hester is dead and he thinks Polly is too.”
Caleb got up, walked to the table, reached into Elizabeth’s sewing basket and pulled out a bottle of rum. “Tell me, in his fever, does he think Polly is dead?”
“No, he cries out for her still...over and over. Then he talks to her as though she sits by him on the bed. ‘If only you were not so young,’ he says.”
“And you,” Caleb asked, replacing his brother’s tea with a glass of rum, “do you believe she is alive?”
“I want her to be alive so fervently, I allow myself no other thought.”
“But it has been two years.”
Uriah downed part of his rum and then lightly bit his lower lip. “Two years and seven months.”
“Perhaps something happened to Laughing Rain.”
“Sadly, I can think of no other possibility.” Uriah closed his eyes and bowed his head.
Suddenly, Adam burst through the door in his nightshirt, one slipper on and one off. “Papa, the baby comes!”
“Praise be,” Uriah said, quickly getting to his feet.
But Caleb did not even bother to move. “My boy, I hardly think I am the one to tell. Wake her mother. She’s acquired considerable experience in matters such as these.”
“Right,” Adam said, rushing away.
Caleb took a long, deep breath and sighed, “And there’s an end to it. We’ll not see a full night sleep for months.”
*
JUST BEFORE DAWN, THE nineteen-year-old Shawnee, Tecumseh, paused at the edge of the trees to listen. The forest was still. He cautiously walked his horse up the road, stopped just out of sight of the cabin, and then twisted the upper portion of his body. Putting one strong arm around her, he gently lowered a white woman of his same age to the ground.
Moccasins were on her feet, skins were laced around her calves, she wore a dress of fringed deer leather and her auburn hair was in braids. With adoration in her eyes, the woman untied a heavy bearskin cloak and held it out to him.
Tecumseh did not quickly take it. Instead, he tenderly touched the side of her face. “You pray?” he asked.
“For thee and thy people always,” she answered, handing him the cloak. She smiled one last smile and then watched him turn his horse back into the forest.
At long last—the Quaker Polly Lewis was home.
In the brightening sky, she could hardly control her excitement as she marched around the last bend. She was about to cross the yard when she glanced down and came to an abrupt stop. “Suppose he mistakes me for an Indian? Suppose he shoots me?”
Instantly, she darted past her favorite stump, dashed into the forest and hid behind a large fur tree. It was several long moments before she gingerly moved a branch. The house had two new rooms. Smoke drifted from an old and new chimney, more land had been cleared and in the air was the smell of... “Bacon,” she muttered, swallowing hard. Polly renewed her bravery, stepped out and started into the yard. But then another thought occurred to her. “Suppose it is not them at all? Suppose they moved on?” In a flash, she was back in the forest, but this time, her swiftness alarmed the chickens, making them flutter and squawk.
Polly held her breath and watched the door open. The muzzle of a musket appeared first and then a man come out. “Thou has aged,” she whispered, her eyes glued to Ezekiel’s graying hair. She thought to call out, but he went back inside and closed the door.
“Thou looks mean. I will wait until thee has eaten,” she said, finding a fallen log to sit on. She plopped herself down and folded her arms. Once more, the smell of bacon filled the air and immediately, she stood back up. “I’ve waited long enough!” Pausing only a moment to think, Polly grinned, filled her lungs with air and began to sing her father’s favorite hymn:
“Fairest Lord Jesus, ruler of all nature,
Oh thou of God and man the Son.
Thee will I cherish, Thee will I....”
His musket still in hand, Ezekiel slowly opened the door and stepped through the doorway. Soon Israel, Jesse and Melba were peeking around him, but Polly had stopped singing.
“Polly?” Ezekiel called out. When she did not answer, he walked to the middle of the yard and slowly turned to scan the edge of the forest with his eyes.
“Papa, don’t shoot,” Polly said finally. She waited until he turned toward her before she carefully revealed her hiding place.
“Polly?” Ezekiel asked again. His eyes grew larger as he watched her walk toward him.
“Thou doth not recognize me?” Polly asked, stopping just a few feet away.
“Thee got old,” Melba said.
“I got old, look at thee. Thou was only four when last I saw thee.”
Suddenly, Ezekiel threw open his arms and tears began to stream down his cheeks. “Come here, daughter.”
Hidden in the forest, Tecumseh watched as Polly embraced each member of her family. He smiled when their voices became loud with jubilation and was about to leave, when their expressions suddenly changed. Polly’s eyes filled with horror and her mouth dropped wide open. Then she abruptly spun around and ran back into the forest.
Alarmed, Tecumseh slid off his horse and raced through the trees to intercept her. She stumbled, caught herself and dashed on. She was about to fall again when he grabbed her arms and turned her to him. Her mouth was still open, her face was rigid and she wasn’t breathing. Tecumseh shook her shoulders. Nothing. He shook her again, only harder.
At last, Polly drew a deep breath, tightened her fists and screeched, “Mama!”
*
FOR URIAH, THE PASSING of the winter months was painfully slow. Late one afternoon, he used his jacket sleeve to clear fog off a small windowpane in Mahala’s study and peeked out. “Snow...in the middle of March,” he muttered, trying unsuccessfully to see anything but white. “We’ll never see spring.” Giving up, he went back to his seat, pulled the quilt over his legs, put on his reading glasses, opened the Bible, and began mouthing the words. Two passages later, he paused to gaze upward. “Perhaps Laughing Rain is—”
“MacGreagor has come,” Elizabeth interrupted, opening the door wide and standing aside.
“It is about time,” Uriah scoffed, setting the book down and quickly removing his glasses.
MacGreagor hurried past Elizabeth and headed straight for the hearth. He pulled off his glove with his teeth and put his hand nearer the flame. Soon John, Caleb, Rose and Adam followed him in.
“Might ye have a wee bit of rum?” MacGreagor asked.
“We do,” Caleb answered, eyeing his wife cautiously.
“Do we now?” Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. “Did you not say the one opened Saturday was the very last?”
“Aye, but fortunately, I found another one,” said Caleb, taking two books off the shelf. He reached in and pulled out a full bottle.
In a huff, Elizabeth sat down in a chair near the door and took little Christopher from Rose. “Fortunately indeed.”
“Thank you, Mama, he’s been a fuss all morning,” Rose said, taking a seat between John and Adam on the davenport.
“And where might your fine Gideon be?” MacGreagor asked.
“You just missed him,” John answered. “He went off again this very morning.”
MacGreagor turned around to warm his backside. “Then he’s not found his wife?”
“Not yet,” Rose answered.
“Pity. Did warm me heart to hear of her,” MacGreagor said, taking the glass from Caleb and quickly downing half.
“He told you about Cesha?” John asked. “He’s hardly said a word to me.”
“Well, did ye think he might be a bit more friendly with a Scotsman?”
“Never mind all that,” Uriah interrupted, “did you see Thomas Rodes?”
MacGreagor slowly emptied his glass and held it out to Caleb for more. “I did.”
“Great glory, man, tell us,” Uriah demanded, “what did he say?”
MacGreagor ignored the question, set his drink down, took off his heavy cloak and laid it across the wood box. “Thomas Rodes be a wealthy man.”
“What?” Uriah asked. “How?”
“He did’na say. He’s cleaned the place; the grounds be replanted, the silver polished, the carpets swept, the chimneys cleaned, and he’s restored all the furnishing. The place be fit from bow to stern.”
John got up, helped himself to a glass of rum and sat back down. “He let you in then?”
“He did, and he was right pleased ta see me.”
“I don’t understand, isn’t he angry?” John asked.
“Not that I could tell. He has twenty servants, if he’s a one. He wears the finest clothing in all England, and he’d not let me escape till I’d seen every room.”
“Even the ballroom?” Rose asked, snuggling closer to Adam and smiling when he kissed the top of her head.
“Aye,” MacGreagor answered, taking another sip of rum.
“Oh, do tell us,” Rose pleaded.
“Well, never in me life did I see the likes of it. There be three candelabra hanging from the ceiling...each the size of me own ship. The chairs be red velvet and there be white satin curtains all round. The curtains be tied apart where there be windows on the one hand, and glorious painting of me Scotland on the other.”
“It’s just as I remember,” Uriah mumbled.
With all the chairs taken, Caleb remained standing, ready to refill MacGreagor’s glass. “He freed up the inheritance somehow.”
“That he has,” Uriah groaned.
“Yet, there be the one room,” MacGreagor went on, “he’s not laid hand on still. ‘Tis the wee girl’s bedchamber. The door be shut when he took me on the grand tour, and he be about to pass it by when he stopped. With nary a word, he opened the door, allowed me a look-see and then closed it back again.”
“He’s not even cleaned it?” John asked.
“Not set foot in it. It be just as it was.”
“Didn’t he explain?” Adam asked.
“No, but he did say he wants a list.”
“What sort of list?” Uriah asked.
“A list of remembrances ye desire from him.”
Uriah was speechless and deep lines were furrowed in his brow. The fire crackled, MacGreagor downed the rest of his drink and Rose cuddled closer to Adam. Little Christopher was asleep in his grandmother’s arms. Finally, Uriah spoke, “Do you mean he will send them to us?”
“Aye, and pay the expense. He’ll freely send all you ask – except the storybook.”
“What storybook?”
“He said to say, ‘In the storybook be all the answers.’”
“He entices us back?” Caleb complained. “I don’t believe it.”
Rose quickly sat up and grabbed John’s arm. “Can we all go this time? I’d adore seeing the house.”
“So, he will not come to us as we hoped,” said Caleb.
Uriah suspiciously glanced from side to side. “He’s up to something, but what?”
“Well—” Elizabeth started.
Suddenly, Clifton threw the door open and rushed into the room. “Massah John! They’s done whipped Gideon!”
“Where?” John asked, quickly handing his glass to Rose and scrambling to his feet.
“Out back. Miss Daisy brung him home,” Clifton answered.
*
GIDEON LAY ON HIS STOMACH in the snow at the bottom of the back steps. His coat was missing, his shirt was shredded and blood seeped from deep gashes on his back. A large, purplish lump had risen on his forehead and his left eye was swollen shut. Standing nearby, Miss Daisy looked on. Her coat was sweaty, her nostrils flared and her saddle was drenched in blood.
When John arrived, Suzanne was sitting on the ground beside Gideon, wiping at the blood with the hem of her skirt. John flew down the steps, quickly grabbed Suzanne and lifted her to her feet. “The bell, Suzanne, ring the bell. He’ll freeze out here.”
“All right,” she answered, racing up the steps. She ran the length of the verandah, grabbed the cord and frantically began to bang the ball against the inside of the brass bell. One by one, Africans poked their heads out of the slave quarters.
“It’s Gideon!” Suzanne shouted. “He’s hurt!”
*
WELL INTO THE EVENING, everyone’s attention remained on Gideon. Finally, there was little to do but light the candles and wait.
“I’ll take him on me ship,” MacGreagor said, standing at the foot of John’s bed watching Elizabeth gently wash Gideon’s wounds. “They’ll not find him there.”
“Carry him back down the stairs, you mean?” Uriah asked, standing watch at a window. “It took every man on the place to carry him up.”
Elizabeth reached for a bandage and began to lightly lay it on his back. “Lifting him again would surely kill him. He’s not moved a muscle since we found him.”
John pulled out the stoker and aimlessly poked at the log in the hearth. “He cannot die, I will not let him.”
“And if he’s killed someone?” Elizabeth asked, putting the bloody cloth in a bowl, wiping her hands on her apron and then beginning to unroll more bandages.
“I, for one, would not blame him if he did,” John answered. “Papa, can you see anything?”
“Not a rider or a torch in sight, and it’s still snowing.”
“We’ve God to thank for that,” Elizabeth murmured.
Caleb quietly opened the door and came in. “How is he?” he asked, handing Elizabeth a fresh bottle of rum. “He’ll be in need of this when he wakes.”
“Is there no end to it?” Elizabeth asked.
“Not that I’m aware of,” Caleb answered, pecking her on the cheek.
John put the poker away and walked to the other window. “The tracks, Uncle?”
“You need not worry, the snow will cover them soon enough. Besides, even the sheriff has the good sense to stay home on a night like this. Michael brushed Miss Daisy down, broke the ice, and threw her saddle in the river.”
“Good,” John said.
“They know he’s injured,” Elizabeth put in. “They will not give up the search so easily this time.”
“In that case,” John said, “when he is able, we’ll take him where they will not search.”
“Where?” Elizabeth asked.
“To the Cherokee.”
“At last,” Uriah muttered.
*
TENNESSEE
“John, cannot we stop?” Uriah asked. His was the middle horse and pack mule, in the line of three climbing to the top of a lesser mountain in the southern Appalachians. Wearing warm coats and leather gloves, each man held the reins of his horse in one hand and those of the mule trailing behind in the other.
“Papa, if we stop now, Gideon and I will be forced to endure yet another night of your complaining,” John answered, guiding his horse between two overgrown Mountain Laurel bushes, then ducking beneath a fir limb.
“Well, I say we stop. Gideon is tired,” Uriah argued, quickly grabbing his hat before a branch knocked it off.
“For Gideon, is it? In that case, we’ll stop in the next clearing.”
“Should we ever see another clearing,” Uriah mumbled, leaning left and then right to miss more branches. “Good thing we did not bring Sparky. That dog takes up more room in the saddle than I do.”
“Only because you let her. I’m beginning to think you miss her.”
“Miss her? I don’t even like dogs,” Uriah said, cresting the mountain and then breaking out of the trees into a clearing, where John was already off his horse. Below lay a valley with a sparkling river, bright green grass, flowers in profuse bloom, and settlers going about their daily lives.
The last to arrive, Gideon winced as he slowly lifted a leg over Miss Daisy’s saddle and got down. “What settlement is this?”
“Kingsport, I believe. I recall the blockhouse,” John answered, watching his father dismount and quickly put his hands in the small of his arched back. “The settlers hope to become a new state, if North Carolina allows secession,” he went on. “The state of Franklin.”
Gideon found a rock to sit on, carefully lowered himself to it, and began unwrapping the bandage around his head. “How far to the Cherokee village?”
“Another fifty miles or so down the valley,” answered John. “Shall I get a new bandage?”
“It feels better with it off.”
Uriah stretched from side to side and then bent forward to touch his toes. “Now that you recover, perhaps you might tell us what happened.”
“Papa, we agreed not to ask.”
“Did we? When?”
“I got caught,” Gideon said.
“Caught doing what?” Uriah asked.
“The usual...assailing white women and killing their husbands,” Gideon answered, a hint of a smile on his lips.
“You were not gone long enough,” said Uriah.
“If you must know, I happened upon three men who hoped to line their pockets with Whitley’s bounty.”
“I was afraid of that,” John said, putting a foot up on a log. “And what became of them?”
“They were alive when last I saw them.”
“Why didn’t they give chase?” Uriah asked.
Gideon’s grin grew wider. “I took their horses.”
“I see,” Uriah said, putting his hands on his hips and continuing to stretch from side to side.
“Why did you not kill Whitley when you had the chance? I would have,” John wondered. “Wasn’t he the same man who abandoned you and two hundred others at sea?”
“What’s this?” Uriah asked, abruptly halting his exercises.
Gideon’s grin faded. “I wanted to...I even planned to kill him. But something he neglected to ask caused me pause. You see, before landing in America, we put to shore in the West Indies where we took on more slaves. In a week’s time, the plague began.” Gideon dropped his eyes in sorrow.
“Never have I seen a more wretched death. Their eyes glowed red and they stared unblinking for days before they died.”
“Typhus,” John said, “we saw it in the war.”
“Aye, Typhus. Each morning,” Gideon continued, “Whitley unbolted the hatch so we could carry up the dead, and when we finished, he bolted it again. Then one morning he did not come. We could hear no footsteps on deck, no captain shouting orders and no sails flapping in the wind – we were a ship of death and the whites had deserted us.”
“Good heavens, what did you do?” Uriah asked.
“Therein lies the mystery. When we had the wits to try, we shoved on the hatch and it came free.”
“Do you mean someone intentionally left it unbolted?” Uriah asked.
Gideon winced in pain as he changed positions on the rock. “I have no other explanation.”
“But surely not Whitley,” John said. “The man was vile and committed unspeakable acts.”
“That he was, but when I later confronted him, he was not surprised to see me. More importantly, he did not ask how I escaped.”
“Because he already knew,” Uriah muttered. He shrugged and resumed his exercises. “Tell me, why doesn’t Africa close its ports to slavers? Don’t they know what’s happening?”
“They know,” Gideon answered, “but slavery is as profitable for Africans as it is for whites.”
“They sell their own people?” John asked.
“They don’t see it like that. The people they sell have been tribal enemies for generations. Only here do they find, by virtue of their slavery, that they are from the same tribe after all.”
“Will they someday rise up against us?” John asked.
“Wouldn’t you? Did you not? Your grievances before the war were a great deal less than ours.”
John sighed, “I see your point.”
“That settles it then,” Uriah said.
“Settles what, Papa?”
“If revolt is inevitable, we’d best make friends with as many Africans as possible. Besides, why let Caleb have all the intrigue?”
“Build our own maroon, you mean?”
“And why not? We’ve little else to do,” Uriah answered.
John reached down to give Gideon a hand up. “In that case, we’d best get on with it.”
“Already?” Uriah asked. “I’ve not yet...”
“Papa, this is the land of the Muskhogeans and we are not safe here,” John said, holding Miss Daisy while Gideon painfully remounted. “The Muskhogeans have declared war on Georgia.”
“Indeed, and how have you learned of this?”
John turned to carefully watch his father’s face. “I got a post from Laughing Rain.”
“When?”
“Three days before Gideon’s misfortune.”
“Three days?” Uriah gasped. “Why are you just now telling me?”
“Because you are an impulsive man who would have donned coat and hat, mounted his horse and ridden into the dead of winter.”
Uriah’s eyes suddenly brightened. “Polly is alive?”
“Aye,” John answered, unable to hide his grin any longer. Before John could mount, Uriah was on his horse. He quickly wrapped the mule reins around his free hand and started off down the mountainside.
“Can we stop him come night?” Gideon asked.
“Only if we remind him he’s in need of a good washing.”
Gideon chuckled, “I’m in need of one myself. Who is Polly?”
“The woman my father hopes I will marry.”
Gideon briefly halted his horse. “I see, and will you marry her?”
“If she will have me.”
After a long moment, Gideon finally moved on. “Good. Hester would want you to remarry.”
*
AT THE WIDE END OF the long valley, where the smaller Tennessee River flows into the larger one, the Cherokee village was a mixture of white and Indian traditions. Log cabins had wood shutters instead of glass windows, and attached to the cabins were buckskin lean-tos. The houses faced the center of the village with fields behind them. Beyond the fields, the forests sloped up the wondrous and beautiful mountains. Yards were dotted with drying racks, lightweight bark canoes, large baskets, pottery wheels, and well-used weaving looms. The villagers were each dressed after their own choosing—white or Indian. Together they tended livestock, the spring planting, laundry, children, sewing, and the hauling of water, just as they had for generations.
At the sight of two white men and an enormous black man coming across the smaller river, more than three hundred Cherokee paused to watch. In a field stood a fifteen-year-old boy, and as soon as they came close enough, he was the first to recognize them. “Carsons!” he shouted. His shirt was off in the warmth of the evening, he wore soft leather pants and moccasins, and his smile was wide as he raced down the road to greet them.
John guided his horse up the riverbank, reached out a hand, caught the boy’s arm, and hoisted him onto the back of his horse. “You’ve grown stronger, No Name.”
“I have a name now, it is Brave Hunter,” Laughing Rain’s son beamed. He quickly hugged John’s back. Then, ever so carefully, he got to his feet on the rump of the horse. “Carsons!” he shouted again.
“Why have they named you Brave Hunter?” John asked, guiding his horse toward the village where the Cherokee were beginning to gather.
“Four red foxes and a black bear,” the boy smugly answered. Cautiously, he turned, balancing himself on the back of the horse until he faced backwards. “Did you bring it? You promised a pole ax,” he said to Uriah.
Uriah grinned and tipped his hat. “I remember. A pole ax it is.”
“And to think, it only took five years.” Brave Hunter smirked, folding his arms. “Who’s he?”
“A friend,” John answered. He led the way past three more cabins and several people before he turned his horse up the road toward the eastern edge of the mountains. “He’s harmless.”
“He’s so big,” a white woman muttered, speaking to the Cherokee man standing next to her. “Bigger than any two of us.”
“You’ve a new smokehouse, I see,” John said.
Still facing backwards, Brave Hunter parted his legs and sat down. “We’ve new mouths to feed and we build a Quaker church over there,” he said, pointing without looking.
John glanced at a half-built structure to the south. “I see it.”
Uneasy, Gideon brought his horse up alongside Uriah. The Cherokee were crowding closer, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. Then a woman touched his leg as he passed and smiled. Soon, he returned their smiles and put a hand out for them to touch. “Haven’t they ever seen Africans?” he asked.
“Never this close,” Brave Hunter answered. “Does the sun burn your skin as it does ours?”
“Aye. We burn, we bleed, we laugh, and we cry, the same as all people,” Gideon answered.
“Cherokee do not cry,” Brave Hunter shot back.
“I see.”
His face aglow, Laughing Rain stood in front of his modest four-room cabin with his arm around his full-blooded Cherokee wife. Dressed in long pants and a shirt, he patiently waited while Brave Hunter jumped down and helped tie the horses. When Uriah walked to him, Laughing Rain smiled his crooked smile. “You did come.”
“Not nearly soon enough,” Uriah answered. “How pleased I am to see you. Were you not a man, I would hug you.”
Shining Woman giggled. “I am not a man.”
“Indeed not,” Uriah said, wrapping his arms around her. “How I have missed the both of you.”
“And me?” Brave Hunter asked.
“Well, if you insist,” Uriah said, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. Soon, he turned his attention back to Laughing Rain. “Now tell me, how is Polly?”
John winked at Shining Woman and shook Laughing Rain’s hand. “Papa, we’ve not yet given them their gifts.”
“You bring me a slave?” Laughing Rain asked.
“I don’t like you that much,” John teased. “A strong slave costs more than a horse.”
Shining Woman studied Gideon’s face. “He is in pain.”
“An injury to his back that refuses to heal,” John said. “We’ve tried everything.”
She walked behind Gideon, gently lifted his shirt, parted the bandage and then reeled back at the sight of his infection. “It will hurt, but it will heal,” she said.
“To heal, I’ll allow anything,” Gideon said.
“Brave Hunter, bring...” Shining Woman started. But the boy had already grabbed a small basket off a nail and was racing toward the forest.
Shining Woman turned to lead the way into the house. “Come, we eat.”
“Even me?” Gideon asked.
A full foot shorter, Laughing Rain slowly looked Gideon over from the tip of his shoes to the top of his head. “How much do you eat?”
“All he can get,” Uriah sneered.
“Crops were good. Come in,” Laughing Rain said, at last flashing his mischievous grin.
Uriah went in, glanced around the small, sparsely furnished sitting room and found a chair. “How I have longed for a proper meal. My son simply cannot cook.”
“And there’s a new complaint,” John said. He waited for Shining Woman to sit and then made himself comfortable in a sturdy high-backed chair. Nearby, a top-hinged shutter had been propped open, letting in fresh air.
“My son is in need of a wife,” Uriah blurted out. “Which reminds me, is Polly well?”
“Papa, you forget, they have not yet learned of Hester’s passing, and...” he went on before his father could speak, “if you desire a woman to cook for you, you should see to a wife of your own.”
“I cannot.”
“And why not?”
“Because,” Uriah shot back, “the only woman of any possible worth is married to Laughing Rain.”
John savored Shining Woman’s shy giggle. Her plain brown frock and white apron were made of hemp and her hair was in one long braid down her back. Eyeing her, he reached in his bag. “You requested blue silk, as I recall,” he said, handing her a package wrapped in newspaper.
Shining Woman quickly unwrapped it and ran her fingers across the glittering cloth. Then she hardened her expression. “Is there more?”
“There is, but it is a rather odd shade of green.”
“I’ll trade a sand painting,” she said.
“Like that one?” John asked, nodding toward the four-foot picture of a Cherokee child.
“If you like.”
“Done.” He pulled out a second, a third, and then a fourth package. “I couldn’t decide which color,” he added, watching her eyes widen with delight.
“My friend, we are greatly in your debt,” Uriah said to Laughing Rain. “How will we ever repay you for finding Polly? Speaking of Polly...”
“I’ll have three horses and two pounds of gunpowder,” Laughing Rain interrupted.
“Have you learned thievery since last we met? And Can you not answer a simple question? Is Polly well?”
“Papa, we...” John started to say.
“Oh glory be, John, let the man speak.”
Laughing Rain nodded toward a seat for Gideon, waited until Gideon declined and then made himself comfortable in a chair opposite John. Taking a deep breath, he folded his arms and smiled. “Is there no gift for me?”
“Must you always side with him?” Uriah grumbled.
“The Cherokee take no sides.”
“How convenient,” Uriah muttered, getting up. “If you must know, I brought a musket all the way from London, not that you deserve it,” he went on, his voice fading as he headed out the door to the horses. As soon as he was gone, Laughing Rain leaned toward John. “I did not know about your wife.”
“How could you?”
“But I told Polly you had married.”
“Oh. Well, I did not intend to keep it from her.”
“But John,” Laughing Rain tried.
Too quickly, Uriah came back. “Here it is,” he said, handing the shiny new long-barreled musket to Laughing Rain. “You will not find one better in the whole Empire.”
“Is it loaded?” Laughing Rain asked, pointing the gun toward the top of the hearth and then checking the sight.
Uriah walked back to his seat and sat down. “Of course it’s loaded. There are wild beasts in the woods, you know.”
“And savage Indians,” Laughing Rain said, feeling the weight of the gun with his right hand and then his left.
John watched his friend admire the musket for a moment before he asked, “Will the Cherokee join the Muskhogeans?”
“The Cherokee will protect themselves,” Laughing Rain answered. “But when the white man attacks, he does not ask if we are Cherokee or Muskhogean.”
“Are you expecting an attack?” John asked.
“The Great Meadow quickly fills and some white men go across the Ohio River. Others go west beyond the mighty river or south into Muskhogean land, but most want the first land they see...our land. The Shawnee have taken a thousand white scalps, and still the white man comes. The Cherokee will not be driven from his land. It is the only home he knows.”
“Did they harm Polly?” Uriah demanded.
“Her ribs were broken, but that is all,” Laughing Rain answered.
“Praise God,” sighed Uriah. “I’ve been beside myself with worry.”
Laughing Rain’s smile still hadn’t faded. “She has changed.”
“Not too much, I hope,” Uriah said. “I rather enjoyed her the way she was.”
“She is wiser.”
John rolled his eyes. “I should hope so. She shouldn’t have been in the forest alone. Did she say what happened?”
“The Choctaw took her. They wished to trade her for guns and firewater at the British post, but the Shawnee, Tecumseh wanted her. He gave two horses, six blankets and three muskets.”
“A fortune, but why?” John asked.
“He believes she is the Great Spirit’s daughter,” Laughing Rain answered.
“I see,” Uriah said. “This Tecumseh, do you know him?”
“I have seen him. Tecumseh holds much vengeance for the whites who killed his father, yet, he forbids torture.”
“Then he did not harm Polly?” Uriah asked.
“Papa, a man who gives a fortune would not harm his property.”
“He believes Polly is the Great Spirit’s daughter,” Laughing Rain said again.
“Why?” Uriah asked.
“He was waiting on the bank of the Ohio to attack the Lewis barge when they first traveled west. But when night came and Mister Lewis tied the raft to the bank, the family ate no meal. Even so, Polly sang with a peaceful face as though her stomach were full. Her song seemed to calm the waters and brought joy to Tecumseh’s heart. So in the night, he hunted and left food on the raft. For days, he followed the Lewis family until they settled near the Great Meadow. Then, when his heart was heavy, he returned to hear Polly sing.”
“I cannot wait to hear her sing myself,” Uriah put in. “Why didn’t he bring Polly home?”
“The Illinois attacked the Shawnee and took her. The Shawnee had the Great Spirit’s daughter and the Illinois wanted her, but for them, Polly would not sing. The Illinois kept her two winters and when the snow melted, they took her back to the Shawnee. This time, Tecumseh paid twenty beaver pelts and brought her home.”
Uriah pondered the story for a moment. “How happy her family must be to have her back.”
Shining Woman put a hand on her husband’s shoulder and lowered her eyes. “Spots,” she said.
“Oh...nooo,” Uriah softly groaned, bowing his head. “How many?”
“All but Melba, Jesse, Israel, and Polly’s father.”
“Only four remaining?” John asked. “Polly lost her mother?”
“And a new sister born the month before,” Laughing Rain answered.
For a long moment, the room was silent. Then John lifted his eyes to find Laughing Rain watching him. “What?”
“She’s gone,” Laughing Rain said.
John’s jaw dropped. “Gone where?”
“Her people were unkind.”
“Do you mean they shunned her?” John asked.
“Worse,” Laughing Rain answered.
“What could possibly be worse?” Uriah asked.
“La Rue. He searched for her and waited for her, but when she returned, she still would not marry him. So he saw the bottom of a jug, showed a deed and...”
“He threw them off their land?” Uriah asked, his voice growing louder as he got to his feet.
“Papa, calm yourself.”
“Calm myself?” Uriah asked, starting for the door and then pausing to briefly turn back. “You heard the man, she’s gone. We’ve come too late!” With that, he marched out the door and headed down the road toward the center of the village.
“Shall I follow?” Laughing Rain asked.
“He’ll be fine, and the exercise will do him good.”
Laughing Rain glanced once more at the door and then looked back at John. “Is he well?”
“Quite. Did Polly say where they were going?”
“She did not know.”
“Then they could be anywhere. Papa is right, we’ve come too late.”
*
THEY CALLED IT THE Wilderness Road and they came by the thousands. From the rock-laden fields of the North, the crowded shores of the East, and the sweltering heat of the South, came the young, the old, the afflicted, the impoverished, the war-weary and the outcast. They came in all seasons, sleeping on the hard earth, bringing all they could carry, foraging for food and struggling to survive. Yet, on they came, their hopes high, their faith strong, and their resolve set – forming a six-hundred-mile human ribbon, down the Shenandoah Valley, through a gap in the southern Appalachian Mountains, up again to the Ohio River, and into the land of the Shawnee.
With them came those who lusted after evil; nefarious horse thieves, cunning pickpockets, sinister moneylenders, claim jumpers, land surveyors easily bought, licentious women, and men whose thirst for blood had not yet been quenched.
*
KENTUCKY
“Three hundred eighty-three, three hundred eighty-four, three hundred eighty-five...” Uriah mumbled, seated on a large rock in the dense forest halfway up a hillside. Tempered with sadness over the loss of Polly, Uriah held his tongue and made the journey from the Cherokee village as peaceful as he could for John’s sake. But he soon tired of being peaceful.
“Papa, do you intend to count all the people on the Wilderness Road?” John asked, stepping over a fallen oak tree and then sitting down.
“Of course not. With so many trees, one cannot see all the people. Three hundred eighty-four.”
“You already said eighty-four.”
“Did I? When?”
“Just after eighty-three.”
Uriah slowly turned to glare at his son. “I should have had a daughter.”
“Too late. Tell me, why do you count them?”
“Shoes, naturally. I will tell Caleb we need at least three hundred eighty-four pair of British shoes.”
“I see,” said John, “and do you intend peddling them yourself?”
“No, I don’t. They are Caleb’s shoes, let him do the peddling.”
“Papa, these people can ill afford new shoes.”
“They’ll find a way. They have walked for months, some with no shoes at all.”
“Doesn’t Harrodsburg have a cobbler?”
“Yes, but how many shoes can one cobbler make in a lifetime?” Uriah suddenly pointed toward the road. “There, did you see him?”
“Who?”
“That man traveling in the opposite direction. We can use men like that to carry a post to Mahala.”
“So we can.”
“And have you noticed how exalted the people look once they round the bend?”
John started to chuckle. “Someone hung a sign telling them they are only ten miles from the Kentucky River.”
“Only ten miles?”
John took off his three-cornered hat to run his fingers through his hair. “Aye. And this day, from the ridge just above this property, I have seen both the river and the meadow.”
“Splendid! Then Harrodsburg is but a day’s ride. Has the meadow bloomed?”
“Not yet, but soon, I think. ‘Tis the first of May.”
“So it is,” Uriah said. Then his attention turned back to the people on the road. Their bundles looked unbearably heavy and their bodies weary. “They come with so little and there are so many of them. What will they do, where will they all go?”
“Anywhere they like, I imagine.”
“Anywhere the Indians will allow, you mean. Why does a man take his family into such peril?”
“Papa, they only just fought the British. They do not fear a small band of Indians, particularly Indians who helped the British. Besides, Kentucky fills quickly and men report better land north of the River Ohio.”
“Has Ezekiel Lewis taken his family north, do you think?”
“Now that’s more like it,” John said. “You have not mentioned Polly since we left Gideon with the Cherokee. I’d begun to think you ill.”
“I am quite well. I’ve merely been thinking.”
“About what?”
“What I would do if I were Mister Lewis. I say we go north.”
“And I say we build a home here.”
“Here, do you mean right here?” Uriah asked.
“Aye. There are walnut and chestnut trees, plenty of oak for building, a convenient brook and a very fine ridge from which to see all of Kentucky. Papa, I am twenty-six. I have a fortune I don’t know what to do with, a maroon to build, and a barge coming. Besides, I’ve already given directions to this place.”
“To whom?”
“To Gideon, Laughing Rain, Adam...”
“Adam? Do you mean you chose this land before we came here?”
“Before we left even. We shall call it Maryridge. Do you think Mama would approve?”
“Well, I like it very much. But...”
“I intend to build a large house with plenty of hearths for warmth in winter, each with a fine mantel where a man might set his clock.”
“Particularly a clock with diamonds in the bottom?”
“Precisely.”
“But son, neither of us is handy with a hammer and nails.”
“True, but they are,” John said, nodding toward the road. “What man would not gladly trade a day’s work for food, rest for his family and fair wages?”
“I see your point. How large a house?”
“I have a drawing in my saddlebag. It is to have four bedchambers, two sitting rooms, a study for you, a book room, a...”
“A mansion? In the midst of impoverished settlers? You’ve lost your wits,” said Uriah. Then he wrinkled his brow, “On the other hand, with a house that big, Polly might hear of it and come back.”
“Papa, Polly will not come back.”
“Why not?”
“Because Laughing Rain told her I had taken a wife.”
Uriah bit his lower lip. “Well then, we must find her and tell her otherwise. I will need paper and ink.”
“What for?”
“To write letters. You pay the people to build, and I’ll pay them to carry a letter wherever they go – addressed to Miss Polly Lewis.”
John stood up and stretched a hand out to his father. “Paper and ink it is, then.”
“You have no objections? Do you now admit you loved Polly all along?”
“To you, never! Besides, we have more important concerns.”
Uriah took John’s hand, groaned as he got to his feet, and then paused to straighten his jacket. “Such as?”
“Such as locating the man who owns this land?”
“And if La Rue owns it, do you think to kill him?”
John put his hat back on. “I admit the thought occurred to me, but no...not yet anyway. I’m hoping the good people of Kentucky have run him off by now. Oh, look, Papa, we have a neighbor.”
“Where?”
“In the trees just across the road. Can you see her? There is a woman sitting on her porch—and a handsome woman at that.”
*
OHIO
The children were finally sound asleep in bedrolls near the campfire when Polly wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and sat down by her father. She tucked her dress under her, laid her musket across her lap and then leaned back against a tree. For a long time, both remained silent, listening to the sounds of the rushing River Ohio.
“Hast thou calmed thyself?” Ezekiel asked, watching her expression in the flickering firelight. “Dare I speak?”
She tried to remain angry but couldn’t keep from cracking a slight smile, “White or Indian, they’ll not take me alive again,” she giggled. “Papa, are there no women in the Territory? Must every man we meet ask to marry me?”
“Thou art a pleasing woman. A man would be remiss not to ask.”
“I do not feel pleasing, I feel...I don’t know what I feel.”
“Thou art heartbroken. Thou lost thy mother, thy brothers and sisters are gone, and thou still loves John Carson.”
Polly’s smile faded as she stared into the campfire. A twelve-by-twelve foot overloaded river raft rested in the water a few yards away, and an owl hooted in the trees. Above her, the stars were bright and the moon cast its beam across the wide river. “I grew up loving John,” she said finally. “I believed he was searching for me. I imagined him behind a bush waiting for the best time to rescue me, and I thought he loved me as much as I loved him. But he did not even come back. I have never known such disappointment.”
Ezekiel lovingly touched her shoulder. “A husband might heal thy pain.”
“A husband who doesn’t care who he marries would bring only more misery. Even one who did love me would soon learn I’ve had a child. What am I to say about that?”
“If a man truly loves a woman, he can overlook such things.”
“Perhaps, but a man cannot truly love a woman at first sight on a passing raft. These men only want a woman to bed, to bear children, and to work the fields. Besides, it will be a considerable time before I trust any man. And even then, I’ll not marry one bound for the wilderness. I’ve had my fill of it! And another thing, I’ll not get on that raft another day!” Polly’s eyes were the deep blue of defiance.
“Polly, what art thou saying?”
“We have rowed it, pulled it, pushed it, and threatened it. Still it goes upriver but a mile a day, if that. We could have walked to Philadelphia by now. The river is rising with the spring thaw, thou art bone tired, and so are the rest of us. We need a home.”
The tone of Ezekiel’s voice was steadily rising too. “Leave the raft?”
“What’s all the shouting?” Melba asked, starting to sit up.
“Go to sleep,” both Polly and Ezekiel demanded at the same time. Melba lay back down, crossed her eyes and pulled her blanket up under her chin.
“We cannot leave the raft,” Ezekiel whispered.
Polly watched her little sister snuggle deeper into the blankets and then rubbed her tired eyes. “We’ll trade for horses. Many have offered, and as we have seen daily, the raft goes downriver far better than it goes up.”
“But what of our belongings?”
“We’ll buy new,” she answered, moving her blanket aside and reaching into the pocket of her skirt. Slowly, she withdrew a closed fist. When she opened her hand, eight diamonds sparkled in the moonlight.
“Where did thou get those?”
“John’s father gave them to me and I hid them in the tree stump by the house. He said I was to sell them if ever we had a need. Well...we have a need now.”
“But Mister Carson is impoverished. He must have given you what little he had,” Ezekiel muttered, his brow deeply wrinkled. “Why does a man do that?”