American Dreams (42 page)

Eliza lightly squeezed his hand and whispered, "Ask her to come stay with us. It isn't good for her to remain here."

He nodded briefly and walked over to her. If she was aware of his presence, she gave no sign of it. "Temple, Eliza and I want you and Lije to come home with us."

"No." There was no emotion in her answer, just a simple refusal.

"I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't think it was best for you to get away."

"No," Temple repeated more forcefully, the tone of her voice still level. "I am not leaving here. This is my son's home. It is my home. There is a house to be built, crops to be tended, and a sawmill to run. No matter what happens, we will not leave."

Although Will doubted her calmness, her determination was unmistakable. He felt a swell of pride for this proud, courageous woman who was his daughter. He had lost so much, but looking at Temple, he realized how much he still had.

"If that is what you want, Temple, then I will do everything I can to help. But I don't like the idea of you staying here alone. Kipp can—"

"No!" Her sudden flare of anger took him by surprise. Will remembered now the depth of Kipp's hatred toward all who had signed the treaty. How could he have forgotten the glitter of satisfaction that had been in his son's eyes when he had ridden home to inform them of the deaths of the Ridges, Boudinot, and, yes, Shawano? Will privately acknowledged that his choice of company for Temple had been a poor one and didn't argue with her further.

During the ride home that evening, the hills were bathed in the blood-red glow of a setting sun. Red, the color was everywhere in the Nation ... and in the hearts of too many men. Will quietly studied Kipp when he joined them to ride alongside the team of horses. A rifle was in his hand, the long muzzle resting in the crook of his left arm.

Youth, Will thought, why did it behave so rashly without considering the consequences? A climate of fear and hatred now prevailed. Still, he recognized that it wasn't fair to blame only the young men. The swirl of rumors that had followed in the wake of the assassinations had claimed that older, supposedly wiser men had been involved as well.

How actively had his son participated in them? How damning was Kipp's absence? Had he been a member of one of the execution squads or merely a supporter? The questions haunted Will, but he didn't want to know the answers. Kipp was his son.

From the day he learned of the treaty, Will had deplored the actions of those who had signed it, regardless of their motives. They had broken the law. Yet, like John Ross, he had recognized that to take action against them could rip their nation apart at a time when they needed to stand together. And it was even more true today. The council meeting had shown that the western Cherokees and the treaty party were allied. Instead of uniting the various factions as Ross had hoped, the killings had created a rift even greater than before and made the possibility of a civil war very real. And his family—his son and daughter—was caught in the middle of the conflict.

All was quiet when they arrived home. Will halted the team in front of the shack, wrapped the reins around the brake handle, and climbed down. When he walked around the wagon to help Eliza, he noticed that Kipp didn't dismount.

Reaching up, he gripped Eliza by the waist and lifted her to the ground. Just for an instant, Will was conscious of the slight thickening of her middle. Briefly, he met the upward glance of her hazel eyes. He suddenly wondered whether their child's eyes would be flecked with gold like hers. With some surprise, he realized this was the first time he had thought of the baby growing in her womb as a living entity, separate and distinct yet forever a part of them.

"I will start supper while you unhitch the team." Eliza moved away.

He watched her, wanting to call her back and tell her what he was thinking. It had been a long time since he had talked to her. But Kipp was there. Will turned. "Give me a hand with the team."

"Call Shadrach. He's about somewhere. He can help you." Kipp's horse shifted beneath him as if anticipating a command. "I'm leaving. I will be gone a few days."

"Where?" Will noticed the way Kipp refused to look directly at him.

"To John Ross's home at Park Hill. I heard Watie has gathered a small army of men around him. He thinks Ross is responsible for his brother's death and seeks to avenge it by taking his life."

"So you go there to protect him."

"Yes. There are already twenty or so men around the house, but we don't know Watie's strength. General Arbuckle refuses to send any troops from Fort Gibson to protect Ross. He wants Ross to come in, but he will only arrest him if he does."

"Ross never sanctioned these assassinations, did he?" It was the closest Will would come to asking his son about his knowledge of the events.

"No."

That one answer told Will that Kipp knew a great deal more. "I didn't think so." Will climbed back onto the wagon seat.

Kipp rode off into the rose-purple twilight. Clicking to the team, Will drove the wagon over to the small corral and lean-to.

 

Black Cassie scooped the last of the eggs and wild onions out of the heavy iron skillet. Eliza checked the table to make certain all was in readiness for the evening meal. A cloth covered the plate of hot corn pone. The jars of molasses and honey were set out. The new dishes and tableware were in place.

Satisfied, she stepped to the doorway to summon Will to the table. As she started to call out, she saw him sitting on the stoop, staring at an evening star that glittered faintly in the purpling sky.

Eliza suddenly wanted to cry. When he had returned from the council meeting, she had gotten the impression that he had emerged from the cocoon of grief and melancholy that had surrounded him all these months. She had dared to hope that the Will Gordon she loved was back. But there he was again, staring into space, Shawano's death and the other killings sending him back into that world of black despair.

"Will." She heard the ache in her voice and tried to rid herself of it. "Supper is ready."

When he stood, she started to turn away. "Is that all?" he asked. Puzzled by his strange question, Eliza frowned at him. "Are you not going to lecture me on idleness?"

In the half-light of eventide, she couldn't be sure if that was a smile she saw in his eyes. She took a step closer, moving out of the doorway and onto the stoop. It was a smile.

"Will." Dazed, she reached out to touch him, afraid she was dreaming this.

But he took her hand and gently pulled her toward him. "I had forgotten how very beautiful you are," he murmured, then claimed her lips in a kiss that was at once sweet in its gentleness and searing in its passion. It had been months since he had kissed her like that. She dissolved against him, happy and confused, her heart racing, her mind spinning.

"I don't understand," she whispered against his shirt.

"I am not certain that I do either." He lifted her head away from his chest and framed her face in his hands, absently stroking her hair. "Somewhere on the trail, I lost my faith in tomorrow. I found it again. I don't know where or how. Maybe it came from the baby you are carrying, or maybe Temple's determination to build a home for her son, or maybe seeing Kipp's destructive hate. Or maybe it was your impatience and love. Or maybe it was all of that. I don't claim that it makes sense. I only know that before I didn't care, and now I want tomorrow to come."

"So do I." Eliza smiled through her tears, loving him more than she had thought it possible to love a man.

His hands slid down her shoulders. He turned, slipping an arm around her and holding her close to his side while he gazed at the shadowy land of their new home. "It's too late to plant any crops this year. But we have plenty of grass. We can sell the wagon and buy some cattle, fatten them on it. I know how to build, even though our cabin is a poor example of my work. I designed and constructed half the buildings at Gordon Glen. A lot of homes, barns, mills, and schools need to be built. If Temple will hire out two of her skilled blacks to help me, I can get my share of the contracts. It won't be easy at first, but we will make it."

"We will make it just fine." Listening to him, Eliza could picture it all happening.

"See that knoll over there." Will pointed to a large, dark hump of ground west of the cabin. "When the government pays us our compensation for Gordon Glen, that is where we will build our new home."

"Oh, yes." She smiled widely.

"Miz 'Liza, these eggs be gettin' cold," Cassie warned.
 

Eliza started to laugh, and Will joined in. Cassie looked at them and shook her head.

 

 

 

35

 

 

For Temple, those first days after Shawano's death were the worst. The horror of it remained with her, flashes of it returning at odd moments, making even the sight of a carving knife abhorrent to her. And there was the strain of not knowing where The Blade was. Someone said he had been seen with Watie's men, but Temple couldn't be sure of that. Her one consolation was knowing that bad news raced through the area faster than a cyclone. If he were dead, she would know it within hours. As a result, every time a rider approached the cabin her tension and dread mounted.

Lije's bewilderment over the tragic events was equally difficult to cope with. He kept wanting to know when his father was coming home and where his Papa Stuart had gone. His young mind couldn't grasp the permanence of death.

There was much confusion and there were many rumors afterward. It was said that Watie and his men scoured the countryside looking for the assassins to exact their own revenge. Supposedly, more armed bands were combing the area, intent on flushing other traitors from their hiding places and executing them for their crimes. Adding to the chaos, dragoons thundered out of Fort Gibson, chasing down every rumor and questioning all about the murders in an effort to apprehend the killers. Regardless of Ross's protestations that this was an internal matter to be settled by the Cherokees and not the military, Temple now wondered whether Kipp would be arrested.

On July 1, the special meeting of the National Council convened as scheduled, its original purpose to unite the various factions through compromise. But one of the first acts of the council was to declare an amnesty for crimes that had been committed after they had arrived this past winter. In effect, Kipp was pardoned for his role in the death of Shawano Stuart. The council further stated that the slain men were outlaws, as were all who signed the treaty.

Temple was now married to a man branded an outlaw. The council had offered to withdraw the condemnation from any who would publicly admit their wrong, but Temple knew The Blade would never consent to that. He still believed he had acted in the best interests of his people, and if there had been any wrong done, it had been by Ross with his stalling tactics.

The situation seemed more hopeless than before. To keep from thinking about it, Temple threw herself into the work to be done, letting it demand all her time and energy. There was a great deal to supervise in addition to her regular duties as mistress of a burgeoning plantation: the construction of the new house, the operation of the sawmill, and the field work of the blacks. Trying to assume the responsibilities that had previously been borne by two men kept her in a state of near exhaustion.

The second week of August, a wagon carrying a white family and all their possessions rolled to a stop in front of the double log cabin. Chained to the back of it were six Negroes, four males and two females, all of them adults. Temple looked them over. All six were young, strong, and relatively unmarked. She needed prime workers for the field and wondered if the man would consider selling any of them.

"I reckon you to be Mrs. Stuart," the man said.

"I am." Before she could say more, he reached in his pocket and handed her a letter.

"My name's Harve Jacobs, and this here's my wife, Maudie, and our three young'ns."

The handwriting was The Blade's. Hastily, Temple skimmed the contents of the letter, trying to still the excited trembling of her hands. But it merely introduced Harve Jacobs as the new overseer he had hired. There were no personal messages.

"My husband ... is he all right? Do you know where he is?"

"No, ma'am, I don't. He hired me over in Arkansas and said for me to bring my family here. Then he gave me these niggers and a bill of sale for 'em. That's all I know."

"I see." She struggled to contain her disappointment. She had thought—she had hoped he might have sent some message for her. If not for her, then for Lije.

For nearly two months, she'd had no word from him. It was like living the agony of their previous separation all over again. Temple tried to be grateful that some of the workload was being taken from her shoulders, but it was hard. Very hard. She folded the letter of introduction and slipped it into the pocket of her dress.

The following week, on the hottest day in August, Phoebe went into labor. Temple sat beside her cot, gripping a brown hand and wiping the rivers of sweat from Phoebe's face. After eight hours of labor, Phoebe seemed no closer to giving birth than when she had first started. The black midwife sat in the rocking chair in the corner, knitting away at a pair of socks, seemingly unconcerned by the delay. Temple longed to scream at her to do something, but she was too tired and too hot. She dipped the rag in the basin of water, squeezed out the excess, and wiped Phoebe's face again.

Another contraction twisted through Phoebe and she groaned loudly, squeezing Temple's hand so tightly that Temple thought the bones in her fingers would snap in two. She crooned softly with no idea at all what she was saying. After an interminable amount of time, the contraction passed. Phoebe sagged back against the straw mattress, breathing hard and fast, gulping in air.

"Deu. I want Deu," she moaned. "Why isn't he here?"

"A birthing bed is no place for a man to be. You know that, Phoebe." Temple wished she hadn't mentioned him. It only made her think of The Blade and how much she missed him.