Captive (54 page)

And now his wife. His expected child. His daughter. Even his memories of Naomi.

“Before I was born, my father came to this land, came to live among her people. They welcomed him here, they gave him solace for the loss of a beloved wife he grieved. Gentlemen, I’ve heard it claimed that the Seminoles are not native to this land any more than the white man, and therefore there should be no hesitance on behalf of the white citizenry to cast us out. There you are wrong. For when my father came to Creek country, our people
had already been running south for a century, already running from the white man.

“Some white men have always come to learn; some men come to take. By my birth, I am saddled with the horror and trauma of this war. It is not hatred of either side that drives me, but rather, it is love for both. When war broke out, I felt as if a stake began to be driven into my heart, for at the very beginning I felt as if I was doomed within the conflict of the two worlds. There was only one way to survive it, and that was to follow my own conscience. It is true that I have refused to take up arms against any Indians, but it is equally true that I never joined with any band to attack my brother’s people. I consider myself a friend to such war chiefs as Osceola; I have also met with many of you at my brother’s home, and there are among you many I call friends. I’ve heard some whisper that I came here today to beg for mercy; I have not. I have come to demand justice. I was innocent of the massacre outside Fort Deliverance— my only action there was to save my wife’s life. And though I admit to having caused the death of Major Michael Warren, I plead extenuating circumstances. A dozen witnesses can tell you that I killed the man in self-defense.”

He stood in a makeshift military courtroom between St. Augustine and Fort Deliverance. General Jesup himself—as sad and weary-looking as an old bulldog—sat at the table before him along with General Hernandez, Captain Morrison, and a young military lawyer named Lieutenant Pete Harding. John Harrington, bandaged to the gills, had been brought in on a litter.

General Jesup had ordered the proceedings closed, but somehow word of the hearing had gotten out, and despite Jesup’s greatest determination, the room was filled with not just military men but citizenry down from St. Augustine and a host of newspaper reporters. When James stopped speaking, he could hear the sounds of lead pencils moving over paper as sketch artists captured his likeness.

He had decided to don his customary apparel, indicative of all that he was, European-cut trousers, boots, headband, and a silver medallion Osceola had given him years before, the same medallion he had given Teela to wear to keep her from harm. Jarrett had reminded him that he meant to prove he could fight in a white world, and he had somewhat amended his appearance, adding a frock coat and white shirt to the mixture and queueing his hair back. He knew he was an articulate speaker, and he knew that he was capable of presenting a good appearance. Yet more than anything he might do for himself, he believed that Jesup’s current difficulties would weigh in his favor.

The press had ripped into the man. Many whites who previously might have decried the savagery of the Seminoles were appalled that Jesup had taken Osceola beneath a truce flag. There had been an outcry across the country, one that was continuing even as this hearing went on.

“I demand justice, as justice is my right. But to receive it I will not promise to seek out Indian leaders like a bloodhound; nor will I betray those who come to me for help. Just the same, gentlemen, neither will I ever betray a white confidence or friendship, as I believe many here will testify. Gentlemen, my fate is in your hands. My soul remains my own.”

He ceased to speak. For a moment there was absolute silence in the room. Then there was chaos.

Before he had spoken, he had been accused of both the murder and the massacre. Jarrett had spoken in his defense, and the young soldier Noonan had done likewise, as had the survivors of Otter’s massacre against the whites. Still, he knew that his life had rested in his own hands, and it was thus that the crowd now shouted and went wild. He had friends in the room.

He hoped he had enough.

Jesup banged upon the table, shouting for order. He conferred briefly with those around him, then rose.

He opened his mouth as if to give a long lecture, then seemed to decide against it.

“As to the matter of the death of Major Michael Warren, there will be no charges brought against James McKenzie, as we deem the incident justifiable self-defense—Major Warren had no authority to hang anyone. As to the matter of the military attack outside Fort Deliverance, we deem Mr. McKenzie completely innocent. Due to the fact that Mr. McKenzie’s father was a white man with legal title to property within the state, we can hardly suggest that he leave the territory. Therefore, Mr. McKenzie, you are free to come or go as you should choose.”

Again there was chaos. He heard a shriek, a cry of happiness, and had to ease his way through a congratulating crowd to reach his wife.

Wife …

The word was sweet to him.

She threw herself into his arms, kissed him before the crowd. There were reporters all around them, wanting to know everything. What had Teela’s relationship been with her stepfather? What did she think of the war, of Jesup’s capture of the chief, Osceola… ?

“I think,” she informed them charmingly, “that my husband would like to see his daughter.”

Jarrett and Tara were there, doing their best to get through the crowd. Despite the fact that his brother had just been freed, Jarrett seemed somewhat somber. When the four of them had cleared the courtroom, Jarrett quickly led them to their carriage. Tara kissed James and hugged Teela. Jarrett embraced his brother and promised champagne as soon as they reached the house in St. Augustine.

It felt good to be in his brother’s rented home. Not that the place mattered; what was good was that he had family again. Jarrett and Tara were with him, Ian, and for once now, against so much time of separation, he could be with Jennifer. She was a beautiful child, her eyes such a perfect soft hazel as her mother’s had been,
her skin a light burnished copper, her hair rich and thick and with a McKenzie wave. Jennifer was growing to be everything Teela had said, beautiful and loving. She had scarcely let him go since he had come to the house.

And then there was Teela. The woman who put everything together for him. Teela, with a capacity to love that knew no boundaries of color or creed, and allowed no obstacle to defeat it.

And soon the family would be larger. Ian would have a little sister or brother, as would Jennifer.

Jarrett waited until late at night, then met James in the library.

“Everything seems perfect today,” James said, raising a brandy snifter to him. “Thank you.”

Jarrett nodded, smiling with a crooked twist. “I wish things were perfect.”

James sat forward, his heart thundering. “Mary—”

“Your mother is fine. I’ve told you that.”

“You didn’t lie?”

“James—”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” James said. “Then—”

“I’ve taken the liberty of arranging a trip for us to Charleston.”

“Charleston? Is someone in your family ill? Is there a problem with Teela’s property—”

“Osceola has been taken there, to Fort Moultrie, along with a number of the Seminole prisoners. He is near death, James. He has asked for you.”

The end was very near. James was well aware of that fact from the time he came into the room where Osceola lay dying. Osceola was aware of his own impending death; he had been aware of it for a long time, and now knew that it was nearly upon him. He was dressed in his finery—magnificent feathers adorned his turban and dress; rows of silver medallions were displayed down the length of his chest.

James slowly approached the chief, thinking that Osceola might have already breathed his last, but he had
not. He must have sensed James there, and he summoned the energy to open his eyes, and even to smile before he closed them again. He lifted a finger, indicating James should sit at his side, and James did so, taking his hand.

“Not a death for a warrior, eh, my friend?” Osceola asked softly.

“Death comes as rest for a great warrior who has led his people in a quest for freedom.”

“A weary man.”

So many people had died. White, red, black. Osceola’s grip was suddenly very strong, like the handshake many Seminoles had learned to offer the whites they had befriended. Osceola had been known at one time for such a hardy grip, taking a man’s arm firmly, nearly jerking it from the socket in a determined shake. Osceola had killed many men, befriended many men. He remained an enigma even to James in many ways. He was ready for death. A warrior who knew death well. Yet James clenched his teeth hard, fighting the sudden pain in his heart that stung hot fire behind his eyes.

“Artists—white artists—have come to paint me, you know,” Osceola said. His eyes remained closed, his lips curled into a smile. “Many men. I have posed for them all. I liked the one they called Caitlin the best. He is familiar with many Indians, many different places. He interested me.”

James nodded. “Your likeness will be everywhere.”

Osceola opened his eyes again. “I have heard about the newspapers. They call Jesup a treacherous man, a coward, for the way that I was taken.”

“Yes, there are many whites furious with what happened. Many who find you noble and courageous. That’s why so many men have come to sketch and paint you.”

“He thought that the war would be over when I was gone,” Osceola said. “But it will not be over. Young warriors grow to men. The mosquitoes may best the white men in the end. There are places we can go they
cannot follow. But I will be dead. I will not be a part of it.”

James tightened his hold on Osceola’s arm. “You will be the greatest part of it. You are famous, even among the whites. They will see your picture, and they will know for eternity that you were a proud warrior, brought in only by the use of treachery. You will live on forever.”

“I will die undefeated,” Osceola said, and James thought that he saw the trickle of tears beneath his dark lashes.

“Undefeated. But you will not die, Osceola. To the whites and the Indians, you will live on. You are even now a legend among all the people. Even in death you will be a great warrior. Men throughout history will remember your name.”

Osceola was silent, pleased with his friend’s words. He squeezed James’s hand. “And you, my friend? The war is over for me. What will it be for you?”

James sighed softly. “It is over for me, too. I had thought I could help. I cannot.”

“You will leave Florida? Become a white man?”

“I don’t know what I will do right now. I have married—”

“The wild, red-haired white vixen, Warren’s daughter. So I have heard. Had she been a part of this war, we might have been beaten long ago!”

“Except that she doesn’t wish to beat us,” James said.

“But she is your wife; you have killed Warren, and a child is due. So what does this mean?”

“I don’t know yet. Maybe I will stay here, in Charleston, for a while. Or perhaps I will go home.”

“Ah, but will you live happily among the whites where battle still rages?”

“I’d go south. Jarrett and I own property down in the southeast section of the territory.”

“Near Fort Dallas? There are soldiers there.”

“And bands of Seminoles nearby. I don’t believe there will be much conflict because it is so remote, and because
they will have to keep their eyes on each other. Maybe, sometimes, I will still be able to intercede on occasion.”

“Maybe. Hmm. So the whites have set you free.” Once again Osceola’s large dark eyes opened gravely on James. “And you may go home.”

“And I may stay here.”

“You will go home, I think.” He smiled. “You are very eloquent, Running Bear. You always have been. I heard you were quite magnificent in court. That though your life was at stake, still you defended our people. The war may be over for you. You can fight no more, for there is no battle you can win. You are a man with integrity. You have found your own heart and soul once again. Don’t ever look back, my friend. You were a true friend to us all. We never bested you, and neither did the whites. Like me, my good friend, like many of our people, you have remained among the undefeated. Now go, Running Bear. Leave me to my wives and family. Go to your new wife and your new home. And in the years to come, help create a world where we all can live.”

“Osceola—”

“Go now. You have made my heart glad.”

James rose and left the room. Wheedon nodded to him, and reentered the room, along with one of Osceola’s Seminole priests and his younger wife and one of his baby daughters.

Past the antechamber, in the walled hallway, he found Teela waiting for him. She arched a brow at him and nodded when he shook his head. They walked in silence from the fort to the water, and there waited in silence again for the navy boat scheduled to take them back to Charleston.

When they reached the Battery, they walked, looking out on the fort on the water, feeling the breeze pick up and blow around them.

“I don’t think he can live another twenty-four hours,” he said at last.

She slipped an arm around him. “I’m sorry, for I know you loved him.”

“I loved him,” James said softly. “Some will mourn him more deeply than I will—and some may very well be glad that he is gone. Some of the chiefs have resented his rise to power, and blamed him for much of the misery the Indians have suffered. What no one has realized as yet is that the war will go on with an ever greater fervor. Osceola will become legend to the red men and the white. Wildcat will fight on, Arpeika—the white men call him old Sam Jones—will fight on. If they are caught, the tribes who have already run deeply into the Everglades will fight on.” He turned to her suddenly. “The question is
you
. Us. What do we do? Our child is due soon. This is your city.” He turned, indicating Charleston with a sweep of his arm. “It’s beautiful. Cultured, with such lovely homes. So many conveniences …”

She smiled. “You would never be happy here.”