American Dreams (25 page)

Deu trotted his horse forward to draw alongside him. "I don't like this," he murmured low. "Something doesn't feel right."

"I know." Then The Blade remembered. "We came home this way the last time, didn't we?" He cursed himself for using the same route twice in a row.

When John Walker was shot and killed from ambush a year and a half ago, The Blade had stopped treating the talk of assassination as an idle threat. From then on, he never followed any path twice. He never rode the same horse. His caution had paid off in the past; he had twice avoided a band of men lying in wait for him.

But this time he had slipped up. In the immediate area, there were only two natural fords on this creek. Assassins could be waiting at both of them.

"Let me ride ahead and see what I can flush," Deu volunteered.

Although fully aware they weren't interested in his servant, The Blade hesitated, reluctant to put Deu in the path of trouble.

Just then, a big black crow swooped toward a tree on the opposite side of the creek. Abruptly, it veered off, cawing a loud alarm.

"They're over there. Let's go!" Simultaneously, The Blade dug a heel into his mount, impelling the horse into a gallop straight at the creek.

Deu's horse matched his stride for stride. Together they charged the ford, water spraying and mist swirling all around them. Deu took the lead going up the sloped embankment on the other side. As The Blade followed, there was a rush of movement on all sides. A dark figure hurtled from a tree and landed on his back, hooking an arm around his throat.

The Blade grabbed at the man's wrist as something hot burned his side. Another figure leapt from the mist and seized the reins. His horse reared, squealing wildly in panic. The Blade succeeded in loosening his assailant's hold and pushed him off a second before his horse went down. The Blade tumbled from the saddle and rolled as he hit the ground. He sprang to his feet, his breath coming hard and fast, the blood pumping rapidly through his veins. A man came out of the mists, a knife flashing in his hand. Jumping backward, The Blade dodged its slashing upswing, then lunged, seizing the man's wrist and bringing it down across his knee, dislodging the knife from his grasp.

"Master Blade!" Deu shouted.

He turned as a black apparition parted the mists, man and horse melding together to form one shape. Grabbing Deu's arm, he heaved himself up, hooking a leg over the horse's rump as it bounded forward, running over the figure that loomed in its path.

For nearly a mile, they rode at a hard gallop, then they pulled up and listened for any sound of pursuit. There was none. "They won't come after us," The Blade said, scanning the trail behind them. "They missed their chance. They will wait for another one."

"If we cut through that indigo field, the plantation is only a mile away. It might be best to get off the road."

As he considered Deu's suggestion, The Blade pressed a hand against the burning stitch in his side. The contact, instead of easing the discomfort, caused him to flinch in pain. He glanced at his hand. The wetness he had felt wasn't sweat. It was his own blood. He had been stabbed. He didn't think it was more than a flesh wound, but this wasn't the time or the place to worry about it.
 

"Let's cut through."

 

Temple was in the dining room when she heard the front door open and the clump of boots in the entry hall. A mixture of relief and elation rushed through her as she pushed the china plates into Phoebe's waiting hands and hurried from the room.

She paused in the opening to the large foyer, her gaze sweeping over The Blade. "You are home." She breathed out the words, somehow needing to say them to banish the last of her fears.

When he turned to face her, she took a step forward, then stopped, stunned by the cold look in his eyes and the hard set to his features. "Yes, I am," he replied, as if deriding her for stating the obvious.

Didn't he realize that she worried about him? Didn't he know what a torture it was for her to hear all the threats against him?

"Supper will be ready in an hour," she informed him stiffly.

"Tell my father I will join him shortly." He crossed to the stairs, Deu directly behind him.

After reading that poster with all of its traitorous implications, bearing the brunt of her brother's vengeful warnings, and defending her love for him to her father, Temple refused to be treated like a servant sent off to do his bidding. She watched him climb the steps at a slow, steady pace. Then, spurred by her rising temper, she went after him.

At the top of the stairs, he glanced back, catching sight of her behind Deu. There was a flash of irritation in his expression, accompanied by a tightening of his mouth, but he didn't pause. He continued to their bedroom without a break in stride. Furious at him for thinking, even for one moment, that by ignoring her she would go away, Temple followed him inside.

Halting, he half turned. "Did you want something?"
 

"I went to Gordon Glen today."

"Did you?" The indifference of his response was echoed by his actions as he began unbuttoning his coat.

"Yes. And I know about the meeting in New Echota," she challenged. "I saw the notice for it."

As the front of his coat swung open, Deu stepped up. "I'll help you with that, sir."

"No." The Blade briefly raised a hand, checking Deu when he started to remove his coat. "Not now."

"Do you really believe you will be able to induce the people to attend through bribery?"

"The money and blankets come from Schermerhorn, the treaty commissioner from Jackson. The treaty party had nothing to do with that."

"My father says your meeting will accomplish nothing. The people won't be taken in by your trickery. They won't come, not with John Ross away in Washington."

"Our trickery?" he retorted sharply. "What do you call Ross's methods? We brought to the council treaty terms that granted annuities to support schools to educate our children, provided liberal compensation to individuals for their homes and property, guaranteed our territory in the West, and paid the Nation more money for its land than anyone dreamed of."

"Yes, five million dollars—and our gold mines alone are worth that."

"What has John Ross offered? Only more of the same suffering and humiliation we have endured for nearly five years now." Disgust and bitterness ridged his angry expression. "What proposals does he make to give us relief? He wants us to be allowed to become citizens of Georgia so that we can remain on our land, among the very whites who took it from us and look upon us with contempt because we are Cherokee. That would be even more degrading. No—John Ross does nothing but stall. He continues to hold on to the foolish belief that when Jackson's term as president ends next year, our situation will be improved by a new administration. But Jackson has already picked Van Buren to be his successor. And Van Buren too will side with Georgia against us. Yet Ross continues to fight to keep the land."

"But that is what we want," Temple insisted angrily. "Less than one-tenth of the Nation believes as you and your treaty group do. The rest of us want to remain on the land that has always belonged to our people. He obeys our will."

"Yes, he obeys!" The Blade shot back. "He is a follower, and what we need is a leader—someone who is not afraid to do what is best for his people!"

She didn't like the tone of that. It filled her with all sorts of dark suspicions. "Why did you call this meeting? What do you think you will accomplish?"

"Ask me no questions when you know you will have no liking for the answers!" When he swung away from her, she saw the dark stain on his coat.

"Master Blade, you're bleeding," Deu accused. "You never told me you were wounded back there."

He quickly clamped a hand to his right side and impatiently brushed Deu aside when he attempted to examine it. "It is nothing."

"Wounded?" Temple frowned. "What are you talking about? Deu, take his coat off." When The Blade tried to shrug him off again, Temple came to his assistance. She took one look at the blood-soaked shirt on his right side and felt sick with fear. Struggling to suppress her reaction, she immediately demanded, "How did this happen?"

"Some of your
friends
were waiting for us when we crossed the creek. They intended to make you a widow." His sarcasm cut deeply. "Maybe you will be luckier next time and they will succeed."

"You are cruel." Temple turned to hide the tears that sprang into her eyes.

"Temple." He caught at her arm, stopping her. "I... I should not have said that."

"Your wound, it needs to be cleaned and bandaged." She pulled loose and started for the door.

"Don't let my father know about this. I don't wish to upset him."

"But it does not matter that I am upset, does it?" she flung back at him. "I am only your wife."

His expression was sharp with regret. "If I could take back what I said to you, Temple, I would. I was angry and I hurt you. You didn't deserve it."

"No, I did not." She went to fetch water and her basket of salves and bandages, aware she would soon forgive him even though she wouldn't soon forget.

The wound was a minor one, as The Blade had said. He had lost some blood, but no muscles had been cut. The thickness of his heavy wool coat had prevented the knife from slicing as deeply as it might have. Yet the sight of his flesh ripped open confirmed all her worst fears. Her hands trembled ever so slightly as Temple bound the wound shut and tied the securing strips of cloth.

"You are shaking," he observed.

She turned away, fighting the weakness that made her want to cry. "I wish you would give up this treaty business."
 

"I can't."

She felt his arms encircle her. She turned into them and buried her face against his bare chest, weeping softly and helplessly, conscious of the soothing stroke of his hand. For now she tried to push from her mind the thought of this nefarious council meeting that would soon take him from her side again.

 

 

 

20

 

 

Temple examined the gleaming silver tray for any remaining traces of tarnish, careful not to touch it with her blackened fingers. She grimaced faintly at the sight of them. The only task she hated more than polishing silver was salting meat. In both cases, her hands suffered.

She carried the tray to the side table and set it among the other finished pieces, then returned to the worktable to check on the progress of her two house servants. Only a half dozen pieces remained to be polished. When they were done, everything in the entire house would be spotless.

She had managed to accomplish a great deal during The Blade and Shawano's week-long absence. Working herself to the point of exhaustion every day had enabled her to fall asleep alone in the empty bed, and to ignore the absence of the blanketed figures who had departed the same day The Blade and Shawano had left. Their absence was more unnerving than their sinister presence had been.

"Miss Temple. Miss Temple!" Phoebe rushed into the room, her brown face wreathed with excitement. "There's a rider coming. I saw him from the window upstairs."
 

"The Blade?"

"I couldn't tell for sure. He was riding through the woods like he had Satan himself snapping at his heels. But I'm thinking it is," Phoebe declared. "You know how Master Blade and Deu sometimes come racing home like they can't wait to get here."

Temple looked at her tarnish-stained hands, then at the dirty apron she wore over her oldest dress. "Look at me," she wailed. "He will think I am a drudge. Quick, Phoebe, help me change."

Breaking into a run, she dashed to the back stairwell, plucking the white duster cap from her head and untying her apron as she raced up the steps to their bedroom. There, she flung both on the bed and hurried straight to the washbasin.

"Unfasten my dress," she ordered, immersing her hands and a chunk of lye soap in the water. "And fetch my blue calico."

"Yes'm."

Temple scrubbed her hands as clean as time would allow, then started to shrug out of her dress. Downstairs, the front door opened as Temple tugged in frustration at a stubborn sleeve.

"Temple? Temple!" There was a shout from below, but the voice wasn't The Blade's.

"Kipp." She stepped into the hall.

"Temple, where are you?" came his strident, angry demand. This time there was no mistaking her brother's voice.

She moved to the top of the stairs. "Up here, Kipp." When he appeared at the bottom of the steps, she was alarmed by the look on his face. "What is it? Has something happened?"

"Is he here?" Kipp paused on the second step.

"No, he hasn't come back yet."

Kipp bounded up the steps, his long legs stretching to span two and three at a time. "Get your things. I am taking you out of here."

When he grabbed her wrist, Temple planted her feet. "I am not going anywhere until you tell me what this is all about."

"You are my sister!" The fury that lurked in his every action and word now exploded. "I will not let you stay another minute in this house of traitors."

"Stop it!" She jerked free and faced him with fists clenched rigidly at her sides, every bit as angry as he was. "I will not hear any more of your hatred for my husband!"

"You don't understand, Temple." He glared. "The bastards have done it. They signed a treaty with Jackson's man last night in New Echota. They have sold our land."

"No." She backed away from him, numbly shaking her head, needing to deny it. "Not The Blade. He would never do that."

"You are a fool," Kipp snapped. "His name is there along with the other snakes'. Why do you think I came?"

"I don't believe you," she murmured, her voice threatening to break.

"Do you think I would lie about this?"

"I don't know." Temple turned to face the wall, her head pounding so viciously she couldn't think clearly.

"What proof do you want? Must you see the treaty with your own eyes? His name is there, I tell you—and the mark of his father. They have broken the Blood Law. You can't mean to stay with a Judas who has betrayed our people. They have done more than talk this time. The treaty has been signed." Kipp paused. "I speak the truth, Temple. If you don't believe me, ask him."