Legacies (15 page)

This time Diane hesitated, her glance running to her father. "We wanted it to be soon, but... with you leaving tomorrow and—" About to mention the war in the East, Diane stopped, then brightened with a new thought. "Christmas. Everyone knows the war will be over long before Christmas. You'll have time to obtain a furlough so you can be here to give me away. And a Christmas wedding will be beautiful with garlands of holly and mistletoe strung everywhere."

"And it will give us ample time to make your gown," Temple stated, starting to make plans. "On his last trip to Fort Smith, The Blade picked up a recent issue of
Godey's Lady's Book.
We'll go through the fashion plates and see if there's a gown you like that we can copy."

"And one for me, too," Sorrel inserted.

"Of course." Temple smiled, then looked at the others. "Shall we all go inside? We have so much to talk about, to celebrate." Taking their agreement for granted, she hooked her arm around Diane's and set off for the house. "The last time I was in the mercantile store in Tahlequah, they had a bolt of white brocade in the back room. It would make a beautiful wedding dress."

As the men started to follow, the overseer, Asa Danvers, stepped from the shadows. "Can I have a word with you, Mr. Stuart? It's important."

Something in the curtness of the overseer's voice had Lije pausing along with his father. Jed Parmelee continued toward the house with the women.

"Very well," The Blade agreed. "We'll go into my study."

"If it's all the same to you, I'll say my piece right here," Danvers told him. "I'd just as soon not be under the same roof as that Yankee captain." This time there was no mistaking the man's hostility as he turned and spat in contempt.

"What is it you want to say?" The Blade challenged while Lije stood by, curious now to hear the answer.

"It's like this," Danvers began. "It's all well and good for the Cherokee to stay neutral while the South fights for its rights. But I got family in Arkansas. It's where I was born. So I'm handin' in my notice. Soon as I get my wife and kids to her sister's farm north of Fort Smith, I figure on joinin' up and fightin' for the cause."

"How soon will you be leaving?"

"Soon as I can get packed and loaded."

"I'll have your wages for you in the morning."

The man nodded and turned to leave, then swung back. "That Abe Lincoln can talk all he wants, but there ain't no damn way I'm ever gonna believe that some damn nigger is equal to me. It just ain't so!" He jabbed his finger in the air to enforce his contention.

When The Blade said nothing, the overseer hesitated, then stalked off. Lije noticed Ike standing off to the side with the captain's horse. His head was flung up in proud defiance, the skin stretched taut across his features, his eyes hot with anger and resentment.

Diane called from the house, "Lije, are you coming in?"

"I'll be right there," he replied, again feeling the probe of his father's gaze.

In silence they set off for the house, but the silence didn't last. "This engagement of yours," The Blade said quietly, "is it wise?"

"That remains to be seen." Lije had his own doubts on that score. "I heard today that Stand Watie invited you to join his band of guerrillas."

"He did."

"Are you going to accept?"

"I haven't mentioned it to your mother yet, but I was considering it," he admitted. "It would make things very awkward for you and Diane, though, with Jed an officer in the Union army."

"Very awkward," Lije agreed, aware he would then be faced with a decision of his own, and there was only one choice he could make.

"We both know your mother would be opposed to the idea of my joining in the fight. To be honest, it's the thought of how she'll worry about my safety that makes me hesitate. I have caused her a great many anxious hours during the years of our marriage. She will think it's unfair to cause her more. Perhaps I'll wait," he said. "With luck, all the fighting may be confined to the East."

"And with luck, it will be over by Christmas," Lije said, echoing Diane's words as they climbed the steps to the veranda.

 

The weeks following Jed Parmelee's departure were busy ones. Much of Diane's time was occupied with wedding plans and preparations, while Lije had his hands full trying to keep some semblance of order in his district. The Confederate victory at Bull Run had led to repeated clashes in the Nation between Watie's Knights of the Golden Circle, who now called themselves the Southern Rights party, and Ross's supporters in the Keetoowah Society—the so-called Pins Indians who had taken the name of the Loyal League. Every day Lije saw the division within his Nation deepening.

Late one evening in the middle of August, Lije returned to the family plantation. He bypassed the darkened windows of the house and rode straight to the stables. Heat lightning flashed along the horizon. Nearby an owl hooted, and its haunting call seemed to reinforce the sense of foreboding that gripped him.

The yellow glow of a lantern spilled from one of the stalls. Spotting it, Lije pointed his tired horse toward it, his muscles tensing in automatic wariness. The light moved as he approached the stall door. A man stepped out, the lantern held high to throw its light on Lije.

"Is that you, Master Lije?"

Recognizing Ike's voice, Lije relaxed a little and walked his horse into the light. "It's me." He halted his horse by the hitch rail and swung out of the saddle, conscious of the fatigue that tugged at him. "What are you doing here so late?"

"One of the colts got tangled in some briars. Some of the gashes were deep. They festered up pretty bad. I thought I better check on him."

"How is he?" Lije unbuckled the cinch and pulled the saddle off.

"He's pretty sweaty, but he drank some water. I think he'll pull out of it." Ike hooked the lantern on the iron bar outside the stall door.

When Lije lifted the saddle onto the hitch rail, he spotted a suspicious-looking bundle on the ground. He shot a look at Ike, his jaw hardening in anger. "What's that, Ike?"

"What, sir?"

"That bundle on the ground outside the stall."

Ike glanced at it, then back at Lije, a glimmer of resentment showing in his eyes. "What do you think it is, Master Lije?"

"It looks like it could be your belongings, Ike. You weren't thinking of going somewhere, were you?"

"Where would I be going, Master Lije?"

"Nowhere," Lije snapped, then fought to rein in his temper. "What's this all about, Ike? No one here has ever whipped you or put you in chains. You have always been treated well."

"Yes, sir," Ike nodded. "I been treated as good as any of your horses. I got me a clean straw bed, food, and water. Now and then I even get me a friendly pat."

"Dammit, Ike—" He took an angry step toward him.

"If you were to take a closer look at that bundle on the ground, Master Lije, you'd see it was rags I used to tie a poultice on the colt's leg." He waited while Lije threw another glance at the pile of cloth.

"You could have told me that when I first asked you," Lije said in irritation. "Why didn't you?"

Ike shrugged, not answering. "Guess you'll be wanting me to take care of your horse now."

"Yes." Lije gathered up the trailing reins, but he didn't immediately pass them to Ike when he reached out to take them. "Don't get any foolish ideas in your head, Ike."

"Like what?"

"Like running away." Lije watched for a reaction and saw none. "If you did, Ike, I would be the one who came after you. And I know how you think, Ike. I would track you down. Dammit, it's my job, Ike. I would have to do it, whether I liked it or not."

"I reckon that's so." Ike nodded.

Lije studied him a moment longer, then handed over the reins and moved away, heading for the house. Heat lightning again streaked across the night sky, briefly illuminating the path through the trees. The grass beneath his feet was parched and yellow from the summer-long drought. It crackled like brittle paper with each step.

The air was sultry, the faint breeze providing little relief. Although he had traveled no more than twenty yards, Lije could already feel the perspiration gathering between his shoulders. He thought longingly of a bath, but that would mean rousting the servants to carry the water—and possibly waking other members of the household. Possibly waking Diane.

He didn't want to see her tonight, not with the uncertain news he carried and its potential ramifications. Tonight he would content himself with merely washing off the day's accumulation of dust and sweat. He would leave the bath for tomorrow. Maybe by then there would be more information.

Sighing, Lije lifted his gaze to the house and the sweep of the columned veranda that encircled it. A pale, wraithlike figure floated across the lawn toward him. He slowed his steps, cursing softly in Cherokee when he recognized Diane, clad in a loose-fitting nightdress of white longcloth, her hair unbound, flowing past her shoulders.

She ran straight to him and wrapped her hands around his neck to pull his head down. "I thought you would never come home, Lije."

The soft fervor of her voice assaulted him an instant before he tasted the honeyed warmth of her lips against his mouth. A shudder coursed through him, an oath ripped out, then he was responding, demanding, exciting. Nothing was clear to him as his lips raced crazily over her face. Reason dimmed in desire. There was only Diane and his growing hunger for her.

Home.
She said it as if she would always be here waiting for him. But would she?

Made irritable by the unanswerable question and the rawness of the needs she aroused in him, Lije roughened the kiss. But she wasn't frightened by its demanding pressure. Instead, she strained closer. But it wasn't enough, and they both knew it.

Breathing hard and fighting to control it, Lije lifted his head to look at her. Boldly, she returned his look, then let her lashes sweep down before tracing the outline of his lips with her fingers.

"My, but you are a hungry one tonight," she murmured a bit breathlessly.
 

"Very." His voice was husky.

Her lashes came up, letting him see the impish light that danced in her eyes. "Then it's a good thing I sent Phoebe to the kitchen to fix you something to eat."

But he didn't smile as she had expected him to do. Her reference to Phoebe came too close on the heels of his exchange with Phoebe's son Ike.

Diane misread the sudden sobering of his expression. "Don't tell me you have already eaten?"

"No."

"Then what is it?" It was a careless question that expected no serious answer. And Lije tried to oblige her.

"Nothing," he said, but he wasn't convincing.

Her eyes narrowed sharply. "Something is wrong. What happened today?"

He hesitated, then admitted, "There's been word of a battle in Missouri."

"Missouri. My father—" Stopping, Diane lowered her head and dragged in a long breath, then looked up, showing the steely composure befitting the daughter of an officer and a soldier. "Where was it?"

"At a place called Wilson's Creek, southwest of Springfield."
 

"What happened?"

"A Union force of roughly five thousand men attacked a combined Confederate army of twice that number. After some fierce fighting, the Union army was forced to retreat to Springfield. There are reports of heavy casualties on both sides."

"My father's regiment," she began with the same forced calm. "Was it involved?"

His expression softened with regret. "I honestly don't know. I waited, hoping to get more definite information. The initial reports made mention only of a Union general named Sigel who commanded some artillery."

"Then we don't know whether his regiment took part in the battle." She stared at the front of his shirt. "Maybe they haven't ordered him back into the field yet. Maybe he was still at headquarters making his report. Maybe—" Her voice broke, and she closed her eyes. She offered no resistance when Lije gently pressed her head to his chest. "What if he's wounded, Lije?" she whispered. "What if—"

"Sssh. We don't know that."

"No. No, we don't," Diane repeated in an attempt to cling to the hope it offered. "I don't know what I would do if anything happened to him," she declared with an expressive little shudder of dread.

"I know," he murmured in comfort. "We'll find out more details tomorrow."

"Yes." She pushed back from him, her head down as if ashamed of her actions. "I know I shouldn't worry, but . . ."

"He's your father. I would think less of you if you weren't concerned about him."

Diane touched his cheek in gratitude, then reached down to take his hand. "Let's go to the house. Phoebe will have your supper ready."

Hand in hand, they walked to the house, neither speaking.

Late the following day they learned that Captain Parmelee's regiment was not part of the Union forces engaged in the battle at Wilson's Creek.

But the fighting had moved west.

And the Southern newspapers heaped praise on Stand Watie and his rebel guerrillas involved in the fight for their capture of the Union artillery. In the eyes of the press, Watie was a hero.

The Confederate victory and Watie's new status put pressure on the principal chief John Ross to abandon his stated position of neutrality. More and more, it appeared that the South was going to emerge victorious from the war. If the Cherokee Nation did not become its ally, then it would be regarded as a foe.

The wind was blowing strongly from the South.

 

 

 

 

 

Part II

 

 

We are in the situation of a man standing alone upon a low naked spot of ground, with the water rising rapidly all around him. He sees the danger but does not know what to do. If he remains where he is, his only alternative is to be swept away and perish. The tide carries by him, in its mad course, a drifting log. It perchance comes within reach of him. By refusing it, he is a doomed man. By seizing hold of it, he has a chance for his life. He can but perish in the effort, and may be able to keep his head above water until rescued or drift to where he can help himself.