Chapter 3

Jackson Slocomb woke to find the campfire dead. No water. No boiled corn. Mona gone. He called out to her. He needed Mona to get herself back here and fix him some food. He’d not eaten since yesterday.

“Damn woman,” he snorted. He unbuttoned his pants and peed into last night’s embers, next to the empty iron spider.

He called to Mona again. The only answer was a mockingbird’s grating chack, chack, chack. Jackson knew the grey bird teased him. His frustration was not open to teasing. Nobody had called him Jack since his mother died. He didn’t need some bird poking fun at him. He hurled a pinecone toward where he thought the mockingbird might be, but none flew. He sat down to wait.

When Mona had not returned by the next morning, it occurred to Jackson that something might be wrong. The young’un was due soon, according to what she said and the size of her belly. Best bet was to break camp and leave her here. Or maybe not. She kept food ready for him. She didn’t fight as hard once he got her out of Covington and away from all that was familiar to her, up Spencer’s Mountain and into a briar patch.

But maybe he liked more fight in a woman. He could manage on his own or pick up some other girl and get her trained. Mona resisted his orders too often to keep her anyhow. The young’un? Jackson knew the child was his. He knew the first time he took her in the dewberry patch she was a virgin. He had had too many to doubt that. And he had kept her close underfoot ever since.

Thoughts of the dewberry patch aroused him. The cries of a woman as briars dug into her shoulders forced him to hold back his seed so he could stretch out his enjoyment longer. The last time he saw Mona’s back, he had noticed scars and new pus pockets where the briars he refused to pick out were working their way to the surface. If she could run off, she could rot.

Then they camped near this cornfield against his better judgment, simply because Mona saw an advantage in being close to the corn and water. And she wouldn’t let up. Now here, she spent unnecessary time bathing. Jackson saw no need for a bathing till seasons changed.

Maybe he had been born in the wrong century. Being a backwoodsman roaming the West before it was settled good would have suited him fine. He might have even had a chance to cut up an Indian or two. Truth was he probably should have cut Mona’s throat a long time ago instead of carving up her face. Chopped off her head with his hatchet. Nobody would have recognized her. He wouldn’t have had such a load to carry all this time.

It was settled. Break camp right away. Walk away and leave her and the kid to whatever fate awaited them. They were not his responsibility. She followed him willingly enough, and he still had the eye that could entice any young girl. He let go his hatchet and dropped it and his knife into the black valise. He untied a corner rope, and one side of the tarp fell.

Tall Corn and Two Tears watched from behind a large Canadian hemlock until Jackson ambled away from the weapons in the black bag. They stepped out to face him.

The night before, Beloved Mother had given Two Tears a brew to lessen her pains. She put her ear to Two Tears’ belly for what seemed to Mona a long, long time. When she looked at Mona, she said, “It is not your time,” and walked to the other room. She returned with a cup of bitter brew and insisted Mona drink it to keep the baby inside. “Fourteen suns. Fourteen suns and the baby will be ready.” The drink made Mona drowsy, and she soon fell asleep on the cot under Tall Corn’s woven cotton blanket.

When the sun rose, Tall Corn entered the room and sat by where Mona slept. He waited until she stirred. “Today we’ll take the sacred shell to the white man. You can tell him to leave and he must.” His legs were crossed and his hands rested in his lap.

“What if he doesn’t leave?” she asked, her mind still fuzzy.

“He’ll leave. It’s the will of Great Spirit. And Beloved Mother has decreed it so.”

“What do I have to do…if I say I’ll be your wife?” Mona raked her fingers through her dirty hair.

“I’ll care for you and the child. Here. In this house. My house.” Tall Corn waved his hand about the room. “You’ll have a bed and a stove to cook on and stave off the cold. Care for Beloved Mother when she is old. You’ll be safe. Free to learn the forest.” Tall Corn paused. “I’ll share my blanket.” He blushed. “And you will be known in the village as Two Tears.”

“Where is the village? Any white people there?” She propped herself up on her elbow.

“Our people are there. Those who never left. Jackson promised land to the west, but we didn’t believe. We came deeper into the mountains and kept the ways of the land.” Tall Corn extended his hand. “The village is one day’s walk down the mountain, in the valley.”

Mona felt another slight twinge in her back. She might lose this child. She might starve. She could be on the streets of Knoxville or Bristol begging for food or a place to sleep. Or she could stay here. Tall Corn seemed gentle enough, and Beloved Mother accepted her without question. Mona’s hatred for Jackson and fear for herself and the child spoke for her. “I will be Two Tears.” She took his hand, and he pulled her to her feet.

A full-blooded Cherokee dressed in faded overalls and slouch hat with a turkey feather stuck in the band stood beside pumpkin-shaped Mona, her hair washed and combed. The two struck Jackson as ridiculous, and he laughed.

“Where you been, woman? Who you got there? A real live Indian?”

Tall Corn passed the shell, still in its protective wrapping, to Mona. She took the shell and spoke to Jackson.

“I’m staying here. With Tall Corn and Beloved Mother.” She edged closer to Tall Corn. “You see this shell? You have to leave and not come back to Cherokee land.”

Mona opened the cloth to reveal the shell. Sunlight heightened its iridescence. Jackson was reminded of a fancy lady in Philadelphia and her pearl buttons that he had begun undoing before he got her out of town.

“What’s that?” he sneered.

Mona set her face against his scorn. “The sacred shell. It gives me power. To make decisions without asking you. It separates me from you. It sends you away from this land.” She held it out before her as if it were an offering. “I’m going to be Tall Corn’s wife.”

“What you been drinking?” he chuckled. “Here you are telling me what I can and can’t do while you bust your gut with my kid?” Jackson snatched the shell and drew back to throw it.

Tall Corn grabbed Jackson’s arm. The white man released the shell with a grunt under Tall Corn’s grip. Mona carefully wrapped it in its cloth and stepped back beside Tall Corn.

“You got to leave. Now, Jackson. Tall Corn’ll take you to the trail that goes down to Knoxville.” She pointed southwest. “Just you walk careful in front of my husband.”

Tall Corn nudged Jackson forward with a nod of his head.

“I got to gather up my things.” Jackson took a quick look about at his cast iron spider, the water bucket, its gourd dipper, his tarpaulin and rope.

“No,” Mona demanded. “Just go.”

“I ain’t leaving without my valise.” Jackson moved toward the black satchel.

Tall Corn stepped in front of Jackson, gripped both of his arms and shoved him back. “Two Tears says go.”

“I ain’t leaving without my valise,” Jackson Slocomb repeated. He lunged for the valise that held his hatchet and knife.

Mona grabbed the hatchet and dropped the bag. She aimed the hatchet at Jackson’s head.

“No,” said Tall Corn. He spoke so softly that Mona dropped her hand. Her eyes questioned his request. He could not know the infinite pain of living with this dark-hearted man. He could not know that when she walked out of Covington that night she had no idea she was walking into the maw of hell itself.

She glared at Jackson, sweat running into his collarless shirt, daring her to act. Mona lifted the valise, replaced the hatchet, and hugged them to her breast.

The white man picked up his felt hat and beat it against his pants to slap off the dust. Tall Corn pointed to the cornrow he was to follow. Jackson Slocomb moved forward without looking back. Behind him, Two Tears handed Tall Corn the skinning knife from Jackson’s bag.

Tall Corn gripped the knife and followed Slocomb down the path.

 

Great Spirit kicks a cloud out of his line of sight and calls Sister Sun to come and see. “This white man Jackson will wander, like Long Hunters who followed Cherokee trails years before, trails few white men had walked, winding in and out of copses of virgin forest and meadows knee-deep in grass,” he tells her.

“Who are Long Hunters?” Sister Suns asks.

“Men who traveled west into the land they named Kentucky, carrying long rifles, walking long distances. They appeared in the Cherokee month of the nut, when hardwood leaves swathe mountainsides in maroon, burnt orange, yellows and bronze, and trees drop hardened seeds on soft earth. Jackson will devour whatever he needs to sustain his search, as Long Hunters did.” Great Spirit draws the glimmer from Jackson Slocomb’s eye and replaces it with darkness. “This white man’s hatred has cast him out. He will no longer be accepted by man or woman.”

 

Beloved Mother, respected for her wisdom and goodness, questioned the pustules and scars on Two Tears’ bony back as she bathed her in the tin tub when the two returned. Two Tears told of a green mountain life turned bloody. The fascination Jackson had with raping her atop dewberry vines, in seasons when the vines lay close to the ground, and the joy he experienced witnessing her pain.

Seven nights before the baby was born, Beloved Mother softened the pustules with warm cloths and eased briars out of the festering. With each briar came another story of Mona’s life with Jackson Slocomb. As Beloved Mother worked toward the healing, she chanted, “Briars, um, um, um, briars,” in a gentle voice. When she had cleansed Two Tears’ back and wiped the crying from the girl’s face, she said, “The child will hereafter be called ‘Briar,’ from whence he came.”

 

The night was hot. An iridescent moon lit the mountain as bright as day. The child Briar Slocomb was born during a night of light. Walks in Tall Corn wrapped the babe in his own blanket. He cuddled the child as his own.

Several weeks later, Tall Corn lifted Briar from the rope hammock where he slept by the rock fireplace. The infant opened his black eyes and grinned at the husband of his mother.

“He likes me,” said Tall Corn. “He’s smiling.”

Two Tears shaved more corn from the cob. “Gas,” she said.

Tall Corn put the baby on his shoulder the way he had seen Beloved Mother do and patted his back until Briar burped. Tall Corn rested in Beloved Mother’s slat rocker and pushed off into a steady rhythm, holding the baby on his knees as he made animal calls and named each. Briar looked more perplexed than pleased with each changing sound.

“He’s early to learn that,” Two Tears interrupted. “He’ll know names soon enough.”

“About names,” he said. “Who named this boy Briar?” Tall Corn adjusted the infant on his leg. “He’ll have to fight for that name all his life.”

“It’ll make him strong,” Two Tears answered. “It’s a good name. You can’t destroy a green briar by digging or burning. It goes on forever.”

Tall Corn refused to let it go. “I’ve been thinking he should have a different name. An animal name would be right for a Cherokee boy.”

“He’s not Cherokee, Tall Corn.” Two Tears picked up another cob to strip. “I’m not Cherokee.” The only sound in the room was Two Tears’ knife scraping milk from the corncob and the rocker grating against the pine floor.

Tall Corn held Briar over his head, allowing the infant to look down into his face. “Why did your mother name you Briar, baby boy?”

Briar cooed. Drool dropped onto Tall Corn’s forehead.

“Ask Beloved Mother,” Two Tears answered. “She named him.”

“I don’t like this prickly name. We need a naming ceremony. Have the village come in when the crops are laid back. Celebrate and name our son…” Tall Corn thought for a minute. “Silent Wolf.”

“You can’t defy Beloved Mother. She won’t have it.”

“I’ll convince her. I got her to change my name.” Tall Corn nestled the baby into the crook of his arm, preparing the child for sleep. “What Cherokee man can show his face as Dancing Squirrel?”

Two Tears turned to stare at Tall Corn. “Dancing Squirrel? That sounds like a girl’s name.” She bit her lip trying not to smile.

“My grandmother. It was her idea.” Tall Corn laid Briar in his hammock and set it to swaying. “She wanted a girl to follow Beloved Mother for the village.”

“So that’s why you married me?” Two Tears’ scraping knife plunked on the table. “To be the next Beloved Mother?”

Tall Corn put his arms around Two Tears. “Never. I married you because Great Spirit sent you to be my wife.” He kissed her on her forehead and ran his finger down her scarred cheek with tenderness.

 

Ordinary June days in Carolina gather enough heat to tassel corn, but Sister Sun cannot convince the ground to hold her warmth this season. And Great Spirit is not cooperating, so she drags a dingy anvil shaped cloud over her face and sulks. Soil holds tight to every mote of sunshine it gathers to strengthen freshening roots. But by dusk, heat escapes bit by bit. Something is out of order in nature. Sister Sun wonders if the crops can produce what villagers will need this time.

She has watched homeless children sleep under newspapers in alleys of Knoxville. She has seen the hungry in shabby coats stand in Al Capone’s soup kitchen line in Chicago. She watches Tall Corn work his fields, toting buckets of water from the branch to water his corn. And she casts a cloud over Briar’s head for his boyish sluggishness.

Repulsed by this year they call 1933, she burns the Midwest day after day and returns to the Carolinas, to slip behind the mountains, leaving pink, lavender and coral strips of ribbon to mark her path.

 

June, 1933. Near a Carolina mountaintop beneath a copse of fir, the white woman Two Tears and her Cherokee husband sat on the front porch of their unpainted clapboard house as the sky turned grey. Tall Corn leaned his back against the cane bottom chair in which his wife rested and watched a dirty cloud hover in the sky. He shifted against the chair leg to relieve his itching back.

Two Tears yawned.

Tall Corn rubbed his callused hand beneath her long, full skirt, up and down her calf. “Tired?” he asked.

“A bit,” she said. “What with Beloved Mother in the village. I chase myself all day to get food cooked and see to Briar.” She motioned for her son, a lanky boy of eight, to come to her. “Come give me a hug,” she said. The child did not rise. “And still find time to study the book. It takes so long for me to read Cherokee.”

“Beloved Mother don’t expect you to know all’s in that book overnight.” Tall Corn spit tobacco juice off the porch. The spittle created a circle of russet dust by the rock step. “Do what you can with what time you got.”

“She took me in all the time knowing I’m white.” Two Tears pushed her dusty brown hair away from her scarred face. “Helped me birth Briar.” She scratched and then rubbed her lower arm where a mosquito had drawn blood. “If I’m going be the next Beloved Mother, I got to know things.”

“She understands. That’s what she’s all about. Understanding. Good judgment. That kind a thing.” Tall Corn shifted his weight off her chair and sat upright. “Looks like rain in that there cloud. That’s good. Briar’ll go to the fields with me tomorrow, and you study the book.”

Out of the dusky dark, Briar spoke. “I don’t want to go to the fields. I want to stay with Mama.”

“Don’t whine,” Tall Corn said. “Go inside to bed. Sun’ll be here early.” He stood and offered his hand to Two Tears. “Walk with me to the branch, Wife. We’ll watch the moon come over the mountain.”

Two Tears slipped her arm around his waist, and they stepped off the porch together. When they entered the trees, both shivered against the damp.

Draped in impending darkness, Two Tears confessed. “Just don’t know I can pass that last test. I just don’t know.”

Tall Corn stroked her back.

“You got no idea what I would have to do,” she said.

“No matter. You’re my wife, even if you fail.”

From ahead, over the rush of branch water, a bullfrog belched in response.