American Dreams (3 page)

From the staircase came a whisper of furtive movement. Two black children peered at Eliza from between the carved banisters.

Footsteps approached the great hall as a woman emerged from one of the main-floor rooms. A long apron covered the front of her gingham dress, and her black hair was twisted in a knot at the back of her head. Her face possessed the heavy bone structure associated with Indians.

"You are here, Miss Hall," the woman said when she saw the new tutor with Temple. A smile immediately lifted the corners of her mouth, but it didn't erase the hollowed look of tiredness around her dark eyes. Temple introduced the woman as her mother, Victoria Gordon.

"How do you do, Mrs. Gordon," Eliza murmured with respect, mindful of her position in the household.

"We are pleased you agreed to come here, Miss Hall," Victoria Gordon replied in somewhat stilted English, then looked past Temple and Eliza in a searching manner, a furrow of concern appearing on her brow. "Is Kipp not with you?"

"Kipp?" Eliza repeated.

"My oldest son," Victoria Gordon explained. "I told him Temple had left to fetch you. He was to be outside to greet you when you arrived."

"We saw no one," she replied.

Victoria Gordon nodded in acceptance. "He grew tired of the wait, I think. He plays somewhere now." There was the tolerance of a mother's love in her voice.

Eliza had the impression that Kipp Gordon had known little discipline at his mother's hands. According to Payton Fletcher, the oldest Gordon boy was eleven—a difficult age, neither young man nor child. An age when a firm hand was required.

 

At the top of the stairs, twelve-year-old Phoebe shrank back from the carved railings and grabbed the arm of her nine-year-old brother, Shadrach, pulling him with her. Crouching low, she wrapped her arms around her bony legs and hooked her fingers around her bare toes to hold the position while she peered down at the strange white woman below.

"That be the teacher?" Shadrach whispered.

Phoebe nodded. The pincushion of ribbon-tied braids on her head bobbed with the motion. "She be from the North. Master Will sent fo' her."

"Master Kipp say them talkin' leaves be magic."

"Master Kipp be teasin' you 'gain." Phoebe didn't like Kipp. He was always filling Shadrach's head with stories and being mean to him. "Ain't no magic. An' they be books, not talkin' leaves. The Indians calls them that 'cause they dumb. Be you dumb?"

"No." But Shadrach didn't look too sure of that as he tucked his chin between his bent knees and gazed down at the white teacher.

"Deuteronomy Jones over at old Master Stuart's place, he reads an' writes jus' like white folks does. He be real smart." Phoebe rocked back and thought about that young black man from the neighboring plantation. She hadn't seen him in a long time, but she remembered he was sure enough a fine-looking man. He had a smile that was all big and wide, the kind that made her feel warm all over.

"I gwine to read an' write someday," Shadrach vowed.

Phoebe started to tell him that was never going to happen, but the dream took hold of her, too. She realized it would be a fine thing. She wouldn't be just a house nigger anymore. If she could read and write, maybe when Deu came back he would see that she was special too.

"Phoebe, is that you?" her mistress called sharply.

Phoebe sprang to her feet and quickly stepped in front of her brother to shield him from sight. "Yes'm, Miz Vi'toria. I be here." She scuffled her feet over the boards, making noise to cover the faint sounds Shadrach made as he crawled away.

"I told you to stay with little Johnny." Victoria Gordon came to the base of the staircase.

"I be comin't' fetch you. He be fussin'. I be thinkin' he be hungry." Everything she said
could be
true. The baby was awake and acting cross. Course, her mammy claimed it was a tooth coming in that was giving him a fever and making him cranky.

Sighing, Victoria Gordon turned from the stairs and cast an apologetic glance at Eliza. "Temple will see to your needs." She started up the steps.

Halfway to the second floor, she was seized by a racking cough that slowed her pace. Temple watched with concern as her mother climbed the stairs. The look was gone when she turned to face the new tutor.

"Are you hungry, Miss Hall? I can have Black Cassie fix you something to eat."

"No, thank you." But Eliza took advantage of the offer to satisfy a curiosity whetted by glimpses of the other rooms on the main floor. "Is this the dining room?" She stepped closer to the archway on her right to see more of the room's interior. "I was told I would be taking my meals with the family."

"Of course," Temple replied as she came over to stand beside her. Sunlight streamed through the lace curtains on the four large windows and glistened brightly on the Sheraton-style mahogany table that stretched the length of the room. Twelve highly polished chairs were grouped around it. A fireplace of hand-carved walnut occupied the outside wall, its hearth closed off by a screen. A glass cabinet on the far wall housed an elaborate service of china and crystal. Opposite it stood a mahogany sideboard.

"In the evenings, we gather in the family parlor." Temple guided Eliza down the great hall to another room.

When Temple stepped aside, Eliza saw, to her amazement, a rosewood piano in the corner. A piano—here in the middle of the wilderness. She walked over to its velvet-covered stool and sat down, wondering when she would cease to be surprised by what she found here. She touched the smooth wood, then glanced back at Temple. "Do you play?"

"One of the missionary wives at Brainerd was teaching me, but—" She paused, then shrugged and smiled. "Father has become weary of listening to me play the same three melodies over and over. Do you play the piano? Perhaps you could teach me some new songs."

"I see no reason why music lessons cannot be scheduled in the afternoons." With difficulty, Eliza resisted the urge to raise the wooden cover and expose the keys. She stood and firmly clasped her hands together.

"The library is across the hall." Temple started toward the door, adding over her shoulder, "Father said you are to be allowed access to all of the books."

"How very kind of him."

The instant Eliza entered the library, she stopped and stared at the portrait above the fireplace mantelpiece. None of the library's other furnishings registered, not the large walnut desk, the elaborately carved sofa, or the vast collection of books on the shelves. All paled before the oil painting of a tall, stern-eyed man— dressed in a Scottish kilt.

"Who is that?"

"My grandfather Lachlan Gordon. He built this house," Temple replied.

"He wears a kilt." Eliza frowned, noticing for the first time the jeweled pin on the front of the man's plaid skirt. It was exactly like the amethyst brooch Temple wore.

"His father, William Gordon, came from Scotland. He was the second son of a nobleman there. Shortly after he arrived in Savannah, he killed a man in a fight. The English were going to charge him with murder, so he fled here to the mountains among the Cherokees." Temple paused to gaze at the painting. "The kilt originally belonged to him. My grandfather Lachlan said he was tall and strong like an oak tree, with hair as red as the maple leaves in autumn. My father was named William Alexander after him."

"Then he remained in the mountains?"

"He could not go back. They would have arrested him for murder," Temple reminded her. "He married Dánagâsta, a respected war woman of the Cherokees."

"A war woman?" Eliza questioned the term.

"A female warrior who has earned honors in war."

"You surely cannot mean she actually took part in a battle?"

"Why not? A woman can fight with a war club, musket, or bow and arrow as well as a man. In Dánagâsta's time, it was not uncommon for a Cherokee woman to choose to become a warrior as well as the mother of warriors. When war was contemplated, war women sat in the holy area of the council and advised the war chiefs on the strategy to be used. My grandfather's mother was such a woman. Her English name was Jane Gordon." Temple again paused thoughtfully. "She and her husband, William Alexander Gordon, started this farm. When I was a small girl, their log cabin still stood, but it burned several years ago."

"I see." Eliza looked around again. "You say your grandfather built this house. It must have cost a fortune. How did he ever acquire such wealth out here in the wilderness?"

"He was a very clever man. He operated the trading post and gristmill his father had established. With the profits from those businesses, he brought in agriculturists to advise him, and purchased field Negroes to plant more lands to crops and orchards. A venture that proved most successful," Temple explained. "He fashioned this house after the fine homes he saw in Scotland and England."

"You mean the ones his father saw," Eliza corrected, certain Temple had misspoken.

"No, Lachlan Gordon saw them himself. He had heard so many stories from his father about Scotland that my grandfather wanted to see it for himself. He took my father with him, though he was only a young boy no older than my brother Kipp. They traveled all through England and Scotland and visited many of the grand estates there. They even met King George the Third."

Will Gordon, her employer, had met the late King of England? Eliza was startled by this revelation, then hastened to assure herself that she wasn't impressed by the royal title but rather by the historical significance of George the Third.

In retrospect, Eliza found it quite typical of the English to lionize a party of American Indians and fawn over them, according them the honors they would show visiting royalty. She had only to recall the legendary Powhatan Indian maiden Pocahontas and the fuss that was made over her when she went to England.

While Eliza inspected the rest of the library, Temple carefully scrutinized the new teacher. There was nothing particularly compelling about her strong features and small mouth. Her brown hair was curly and light in color like the wood of the hickory. Tall and thin, she held herself stiffly erect, the jut of her chin suggesting a willful personality. Temple had at first thought this Eliza Hall to be cold and stern without a woman's core of warmth and deep feeling until she had seen the delight that sprang into the teacher's hazel eyes when she spied the piano in the family parlor. At that moment, Temple had decided that she could, perhaps, like this new tutor.

Recognizing the signs of fatigue in the woman's slightly drawn look, Temple remarked, "You must be tired from your long journey. We have prepared a room for you on the third floor."

"Thank you." Eliza resisted the urge to run a smoothing hand over her rumpled and travel-stained dress.

Her quarters on the third floor were small and plainly furnished, but adequate for her needs. A single bed with iron posts and frame was tucked along a side wall, beneath a ceiling that sloped with the pitch of the roof. An oak washstand with a basin and pitcher stood beneath an east-facing window that gave the room some natural light and ventilation.

Eliza crossed the planked floor to the center of the room and surveyed the small touches that lessened the starkness. A patchwork quilt blanketed the bed, creating a cheerful splash of color next to the cream yellow walls. A rag rug in a rainbow of muted hues lay on the floor next to the bed. In a corner sat an ancient rocking chair, cushioned with a faded needlepoint pillow. A plain white curtain moved slightly at the window, stirred by a faint breeze that made a vain attempt to alleviate the room's collected heat.

"You have a wardrobe here for your clothes." Temple pointed to a crudely made piece Eliza had overlooked. Her trunk and valise sat next to it. "And there is a chamber pot in the corner commode for your convenience. Is there anything else you will require?"

"No, this is quite satisfactory," Eliza stated. "Later I will want to inspect the schoolhouse. I was told one had been built on the premises."

"Yes. It is the log building you can see from your window."

"Good, then I will have no difficulty finding it on my own."

"None at all. I will leave you to your unpacking," Temple said and retreated from the room.

Alone at last, Eliza untied the strings of her bonnet, swept it off, and tossed it onto the bed. Automatically, she pushed at the unruly curls that sprang free, then gave up any attempt to smooth her hair into order and crossed to the window to lift aside the curtain.

There, on the far edge of the lawn, stood a log building. As no other structure was visible from the window, Eliza surmised this was the schoolhouse. Peacocks strolled the bricked path that led to it.

More than once during her long journey from Massachusetts, Reverend Nathan Cole had assured her that "God, in His own way, prepares us for what lies ahead." But Eliza knew that God had not prepared her for this. She had believed she was venturing into the wilderness to live among savages and endure hardship and privation. Instead, she found herself confronted by a family residence that reminded her of a manor house.

She thought back to that day two months ago when she had entered the Springfield law office of Payton Fletcher accompanied by her mother, Nancy Chapman Hall. The New England countryside had been green with spring, and the challenge of the season had been upon her, making Eliza eager to throw off the gray, cheerless monotony of the past and begin a new life, one that offered a modicum of adventure and an opportunity to test her skills as a teacher. Payton Fletcher had advertised just such a post.

A portly man in his middle years and a member of a highly respected Massachusetts family, Fletcher had warmly welcomed Eliza and her mother to his private chamber that day. His round-cheeked countenance was almost jovial in its expression, and his gray eyes were kind yet thorough in their inspection of her.

During the first part of the interview, he questioned her at length about her qualifications, the academies she had attended, and the teaching she had done to support herself. To her great relief, he appeared to be unconcerned by her lack of extensive teaching experience. But that also prompted Eliza to wonder if there had been many applicants for the post.