John Ridge
Ridge Valley, Cherokee Nation Territory
Fall 1831
B
y mid-September, I arrived in New Echota in utter disbelief. Men gambled over dice, unabashed and unashamed of their drinking. Homeless families riddled the streets, idle among tents and campfires popping under iron cook pots. Children ran barefoot up and down the roads. Considering there was safety in numbers, I couldn’t blame them for congregating here. What could we do? The Cherokee Treasury didn’t have the resources to move them, build new cabins for so many.
This town, once a dream my father called the new Baltimore, looked more like a military encampment. Years ago, Sarah and I stopped here on our journey South. We imagined buildings before Cherokee carpenters had time to erect them, daydreamed of a life we’d yet to experience. So many families’ dreams had been stolen while they hovered in New Echota, hoping the government they’d voted for would save them.
Where was their chief? How was Ross leading our nation through this catastrophe? Were Ross and his brother still profiting from our people’s suffering, as Black Crow said? Was this how he coerced Cherokee obedience? Otherwise, how could our people have fallen so fast? People must see his weaknesses sooner rather than later.
Elias approached us and assisted the stage driver with removing our trunks from the coach roof. He looked through eyes surrounded by dark circles, with his back hunched low in weariness. He managed the Phoenix, translated the New Testament into Cherokee syllabary, held examinations for school children, and offered sermons to a diminishing congregation in Sam’s stead.
Coodey, Tahunski, and I said our goodbyes before they set off on the last leg of their journey home. Once alone, I embraced my cousin. “I can only imagine what you’ve endured. Give me a task.”
Elias made one request. “Wirt lost the injunction case. Convince Ross not to hold council here next month.”
I said, “What? He wanted our last council meeting moved to Red Clay. Why change his mind now? When we face arrest? Georgia will never allow us to assemble here, not when they have the upper hand.”
My mind was riddled in Ross’ contradictions. He must believe our government would crumble if we allowed Georgia’s bullying to continue. But I knew of his selfish intent. If our nation fell apart, he’d lose all voice and therefore all power.
Elias said, “Soldiers watch day and night.”
“What does my father say?” I asked.
We walked to the steps of his house before he answered. “I haven’t spoken to him yet.” Elias pulled a folded flyer from his pocket and paused long enough for me to read it. He said, “After Worcester and Butler, council members would rather resign than risk arrest.”
I looked at my watch: four o’clock. I said, “We have sunlight until eight. Want to go see Ross now? We’ll take Father with us.” Changing Ross’ mind wouldn’t become easier with time. I said, “Stay at Running Waters tonight. Return tomorrow.”
Elias went inside to tell Harriet he’d be away. In the meantime, I walked to the stable behind his house and hitched horses to his carriage.
On the ride to my father’s, I said, “There’s something I need to tell you. Should have long before now. Don’t print it.”
I shared my burden, a secret I’d held for a year. I told him of Thomas Crowwell’s crimes and how he paid Ross to ignore them.
Elias pulled the reins to stop us and reacted the only way I knew he could. “So, the people suffer while Ross profits from their misery? Surely Foreman knows. He’s Ross’ lackey.”
I said, “He does. In Georgia’s eyes, livestock theft isn’t criminal if the victims are Cherokee.”
Father talked with Stand under the orchard trees, picking ripe fruit from the branches. If I ever wanted to know what the younger version of my father looked like, I did not need to look any further than Elias’ brother. Though Stand was shorter than my father, both were stout and commanding men. There was something similar in the set of their shoulders and how their heads bent in consternation, tilting in the same direction. Stand looked more like Major Ridge’s son than I did.
Stand said, “Glad you could join us, Brother Buck. Who is this stranger you’ve brought down the road?”
I laughed and shook his hand. “I haven’t been away that long. We have a great deal to tell you both.”
Father said, “I got your letter. Had to ride to Red Clay to pick up the post. No more mail deliveries. General Jackson is unbending?”
I said, “He’s a hickory. But I remain undeterred in my continued attempts to convince him.”
The four of us strolled away from servants’ ears, while I recounted my meeting with Eaton and Jackson, the memorial, and Wirt’s loss. Then I told them the reason for Ross’ lack of culpability for those suffering under Georgia’s iron grasp.
Stand scoffed, kicking up dust with disbelief. Father put pieces together with information I didn’t know. He said, “Sarah and I overheard a conversation between Foreman, Ross, and Lewis. I had nothing to connect it to, but it makes more sense after what you’ve said.”
I asked, “What did they say?”
Father said, “Something about breaking a deal with a colonel.”
Stand looked upriver with his hands across his chest. “That makes Crowwell’s words more true than false.”
Elias said, “Do you think Ross allows the people to drink because he’s still profiting?”
I said, “Keep the voting populace drunk and dependent. It assures he keeps his authority. It is a similar manipulation to what Jackson holds over Congress. Keep them fearful of retribution, and they comply with his demands.” Crockett taught me that.
I’d rarely heard Father so quiet. Stand walked down the path with his head in his hands. Elias and I looked at one another. I said, “Is that why Ross risks holding council in New Echota? Does he hope they will arrest and silence us, like Worcester and Butler?”
Father nodded for me to follow him, steering my shoulder. “Son, why did you keep this from me?”
I stuck my courage and told him the truth. “Because you didn’t defend me when Ross commanded me to resign my appointment on the Legislative Council. I had to bring you more proof to discredit the chief you chose over your son.”
I looked anywhere but Father’s brown eyes.
I’d have changed nothing. Not my friendship with Yoholo, not helping Peter escape, not my behavior after Little Prince banned Vann and me from Creek business. Nothing. “I was angry. You made me feel a shame I hadn’t earned.”
Father listened while walking further down the path, gripping his hands behind him.
I continued, “In time, I thought about why you didn’t defend me. You expected me to speak for myself instead of letting your voice command mine. It was a hard lesson, but one I’ve used in every negotiation since.”
Father returned, crossing the distance in three strides. “You deserve an eagle’s feather.” He continued, “Rollin is young, so you won’t know this for some time. But the shift from father to friend is a most challenging battle. I know you no longer need me. I didn’t realize I could feel so much pride.”
No matter how old I was, as both father and husband, I never grew tired of hearing those words. Father hugged me hard and patted my back.
I said, “I am who I am because of you.”
Father held me at arm’s length. “We have much to do.”
Father called Stand and Elias to us with commanding urgency. “We must convince Ross to move the location of the council. I will never see the man again with yesterday’s eyes.”
Ross was in his barn of plenty sharpening a blade on a wheel. He stopped what he was doing and waved at our approach, calling out, “The delegation has returned, I see. Tell me how the news of Worcester’s arrest has spread to Washington. What do our northern friends think of Georgia’s gall? Wirt appeals on their behalf. Worcester versus Georgia.”
Ross shocked me when he put his arm around my shoulder and walked me to the house. Father, Stand, and Elias didn’t speak, but I sensed them following behind.
I paused with Ross’ obvious façade. “Our delegation met with President Jackson a second time, after Georgia imprisoned Worcester and Butler.”
Ross asked, “What did Sharp Knife say?”
“Little, honestly. Jackson’s deep cough interrupted his condolences that we had pilfered our treasury funds to hire Wirt and his team of schemers. He assured me the lawyers would fleece us. He reiterated his friendship with our people but insisted that he wouldn’t interfere with state laws. When Eaton shut the President’s doors to us a second time, we decided our delegation’s influence had passed and made for home.”
When we passed over Ross’ threshold, Quatie sat weaving with her daughters. She rose and gathered a crying child from a cradle.
Ross left the door open. Elias began, reiterating his request, “Sir, I’ve taken pains to find out the sentiments of the General Council. Unfortunately, some of them would rather resign than risk their lives meeting in New Echota.”
Father said, “We cannot serve the people behind bars.”
Stand linked the sentiment as Ross sat and gestured for us to do the same. Elias, Father, and Stand took chairs, but I walked to the other side of Ross’ study. In my thoughts, I compared the similarities between this room and Jackson’s office. Ross displayed a framed sword on his wall. Jackson did the same, although the President’s wall held more lethal weaponry. I couldn’t understand using weapons as decoration, trophies of man’s ability to kill his fellow man. I didn’t hang my bow on the wall. To me, it was far better to be surrounded by books instead of blades.
My mind was on such when Ross asked, “John, do you concur?” When he called my name, I turned around, shocked he addressed me in their debate.
“I concur with Elias, Stand, and my father. However, based on what I saw in New Echota, further degradation will come to my people if Georgia takes the entire council as prisoners and forces us into a cell.”
Ross stood and walked around his desk. He faced me, putting his hand on my shoulder and said, “Not your people. Our people. But, as mine is but a single opinion, I am one against four. I’ll do this, gentlemen. I’ll invite members from both our chambers here. We’ll meet as private citizens and discuss the practicality of assembling in New Echota. We can find out whether avoiding interaction with Georgia’s Guard is useful or self-defeating.”
“Quite a risk,” Elias warned. My father nodded in agreement.
Ross said, “That is my decision.” Then, he escorted us to the door, nodding at each of us as we passed, single file down his hallway. Our footsteps stamped the hardwood floor.
I was the last in line. I stopped to address Quatie. “Your husband is a determined man.” To what end, I kept to myself.
Quatie looked up from the still-crying child held in her arms. “Are you so different?”
L
Elias stayed at my father’s house, knowing how long it had been since I’d been home. Without sending a rider ahead, I traveled six miles to surprise my children and their mother. On the way, I understood why my father rode his acres so often. He was memorizing them. From tree root to rock, everything in his watchful gaze marked time. I followed in his footsteps.
My path along the running waters ensured no one would see me. I crossed the sheep’s pasture to reach the barn from its backside. Inside, Peter held the reins while Rollin sat on an Appaloosa pony.
Peter scolded my slouching son. He said, “Rollin, horses have eyes. Look between his ears so you can see where you goin’.”
I startled them, still atop my horse. I said, “Cheesquatalawny, where’d you find such a fine Appaloosa?”
Peter spun around. Rollin’s posture improved, lifting his chin, and raising his chest. “Papa!” Rollin shouted.
Peter grinned from ear to ear. “Your missus gonna be flyin’ higher than the mistress in de moon when she sees you!”
“Let’s keep it a secret for another few minutes. Rollin, Mama said you’d learned to ride. I thought it was my job to teach you.”
Peter laughed, “Well, when da Major tell you he’s gonna do sumfin, you just get out da man’s way.”
“Wise,” I said. “I’ve learned that lesson many times, often the hard way.”
I steered my horse parallel to Rollin’s pony. “Who gave you such a horse?”
Rollin started his answer in English, “Grand—” With my look, he changed his response to Eduda. He put his tongue between his teeth, thinking, and then decided on words. “Eduda horse Clarinda gift she four.”
I understood what my Rollin meant. His Cherokee was close enough.
Rollin held his arms up to me, and I shifted him from his pony to sit on my horse. “You’re heavy. What’s Mama feeding you?”
“I’ve been growing while you’ve been away meeting the President.” He smiled over his shoulder.
“Peter, would you mind putting Rollin’s pony into the stall for the night? Rollin and I are going to chase the sun.”
Peter nodded and spoke to the horse’s brown eyes. “C’mon, Dick. Hay’s awaitin’.”
Rollin asked, instantly excited, forgetting Peter’s valuable lesson, “Does that mean we’re gonna go fast? Eduda makes me ride in the fence.”
I winked at him. “Eduda isn’t here.” I wrapped my free arm around his waist and clicked my tongue to move the horse outside the barn. There was no better homecoming than running the pasture with my son.
We took the horse on a simple walk to the front of the house. I took the reins from Rollin and pulled them to stop. “Cheesquatalawny, where might we find the sun?”
Rollin pointed. “That way,” he said.
“Which?”
“West.”
“Right you are. Keep your eyes between the horse’s ears, and never let go of the saddle horn. If you fall, you could get hurt. If that happened, Mama would make me sleep in the barn on my first night home. So don’t let go.”
Rollin said, “Papa, sleep with me. I’ll move over.”
“That is very nice of you, son.” I imagined Rollin and myself sharing his small bed, with my feet hanging off its end. Grinning, I tossed my hat to the ground, feeling heat trapped underneath escape my hair. I wrestled to pull off my coat and untied my tie, feeling instantly calmer. I undid the clasp on the saddle holding my bag, and let it drop beside the other articles in front of the door.
“We don’t need the extra weight holding us down. Horses give you wings you weren’t born with.” Rollin wiggled and bent forward, preparing for flight. “Lean back against me. I won’t let you go.”
I took the reins and heeled the horse to a trot.
When we cleared the fence, Rollin asked, “Can I yell it?”
“Please. We’ll never make it in time if you don’t.”
With Rollin’s “hiya”, the gelding unleashed its might. The horse flew, galloping down the hill and parting the pasture grass. Cows ran, darting out of our way. Rollin’s hair lifted against my chest. Horse hooves beat against the ground, throwing dirt clods against our legs. I heard the wild abandon in his thrilling squeals, a sound I would never forget for as long as I lived.
I squeezed my son tighter when we slowed and stopped near the lower stream. Our gelding blew from his nose with sudden exertion while Rollin’s quick breaths came from exhilaration. When he calmed, we looked toward the setting sun. He squinted and stretched his arm toward the glowing orb bordering the Appalachian ridges. I traced his line of sight and held out my hand. With nothing but air in our fists, together we held power enough to hold night at bay.
“Rollin, you’re becoming a fine rider. I’m proud of you.”
Rollin grinned, still amazed. He said, “Papa, we caught it!”
Out of the mouths of babes, I thought, while we stopped the sunset one moment longer.