Legacies (3 page)

All of it was familiar to him, the old sights, the old sounds, the old smells. After four years he had half-expected to return a stranger in his own land. Instead, it was almost as if he had never left.

The discovery brought a smile to his lips. He glanced back at the trailing black servant Ike. "Not much farther to Oak Hill from here."

"Just up the road a piece," Ike confirmed, riding up to draw level with Lije. They had exchanged no more than a dozen words since leaving the riverboat landing. But, as Ike recalled, Master Lije had never been the kind who liked the sound of his own voice. He had always let his actions speak for him and did more thinking than talking. But Ike's curiosity was eating away at him. He took the opening to satisfy it. "What was it like up North?"

"Not much different from here. A lot of trees and mountains and farmlands. The winters were longer and colder, the towns were bigger. More buildings, more people." He glanced sideways at Ike, a dancing twinkle in his eyes. "Alot more people."

Ike nodded, the answer echoing much of what he had already heard. "My mother told me she had never seen so many people living in one place in her whole life than she did that time she went up North with your folks. Master Blade gave my folks a pass to see some of the sights while they were in Philadelphia. Did you go to Philadelphia while you were in the North?"

"I only passed through it."

"Then you never got to see the bell they got there." Ike's disappointment was brief, replaced by memories of all the stories his mother had told him about it. Stories that he'd had her repeat to him again and again. "People are calling it the Liberty Bell. The writing on it says 'Proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all inhabitants thereof.' That's from Leviticus, in the Bible." Ike hesitated, then asked what he most wanted to know. "Did you see any free men of color when you were in the North?"

"Very few." With eyes narrowed, Lije studied the Negro he had played with as a child.
Liberty.
Free men of color.
Those words and the trace of longing in Ike's voice warned Lije that Ike was dreaming of freedom. "You better watch what you say, Ike," he warned. "These are uneasy times. A suspicious man might hear you talking about liberty and decide you might be getting foolish ideas in your head. He might even decide to do something about that."

Ike fixed his gaze on a distant point, all expression wiped from his face except for the glitter of resentment in his eyes. At that moment Lije knew that this son of Deuteronomy Jones did not share the same feeling of deep loyalty that had cleaved his father to the Stuart family.

"I didn't mean anything by it," Ike finally mumbled.

"Maybe you didn't, but it's dangerous thinking right now."

They rode out of the shade into the full glare of the sun. Lije spotted the turnoff to his grandfather's plantation and kicked the bay into a lope, eliminating further opportunity for conversation. Once more Ike fell back to trail behind.

The approach to Oak Hill Plantation was marked by a quarter-mile-long drive lined with bush honeysuckle. At the end of it stood the main house, built on the crown of a small hill and surrounded by towering oak trees. Constructed of red brick and fronted by massive Doric columns, the building possessed a quiet grace and dignity, like its owner. According to Lije's mother, the house resembled the plantation home once owned by the Gordons in what was now Georgia. Lije had been born in his grandparents' home in that faraway house, but he had no memories of it, for he had been a toddler when soldiers had driven the family away at bayonet point.

Lije had barely dismounted when the front door opened. Out stepped a slenderly built Negro dressed in a black cutaway coat and trousers with a white shirt and stiffly starched collar. A smile of welcome wreathed his face, lighting up his gentle eyes.

"Master Lije, I knew it was you the minute I saw you riding up the lane. Nobody sits a horse like you do—except maybe your father."

"Hello, Shadrach." Lije smiled at the Negro who had belonged to Will Gordon since birth. As a boy, Shadrach had made the arduous trek over the long trail from their Cherokee homeland in the East: Shadrach's sister, Phoebe, had been given to Lije's mother as her dower Negro when she married. Ike was her son—and Shadrach's nephew. "You haven't changed a bit."

Shadrach had one of those timeless faces that failed to show the passing of years. But Lije knew he had to be in his forties.

"You certainly have. That college has turned you into a full-grown man," Shadrach declared, then gestured to his nephew. "Ike, take Master Lije's horse around to the stables."

When Ike stepped up, Lije handed him the reins and moved away. Shadrach reached the front door first and opened it for him.

"You'll find Miss Eliza in the parlor," Shadrach told him.

Lije walked inside and immediately saw his grandfather's second wife walking toward him down the great hall. "Shadrach, did I hear—" She stopped abruptly, a hand coming up to touch her throat. "Lije," she murmured in surprise.

"Hello, Eliza."

Moving swiftly, she crossed the short distance between them and reached out with both hands to grasp his. "Well, just look at you," Eliza beamed. "You have grown into a handsome man. How was your trip?"

"Long, but uneventful."

"Good," she said in that crisp, no-nonsense voice that was very familiar to him. "I didn't hear the carriage. How did you get here?" Now frowning, she glanced at the door. "Where is your grandfather? Your parents?"

"I rode ahead. They'll be along directly."

"Wonderful. Come. We'll go into the parlor and chat." Deftly, she tucked her arm under his and turned him toward the arched doorway. "Susannah is still upstairs changing," she said, referring to her daughter, "but Kipp and Alex are here."

Caught off guard by the announcement of his uncle Kipp's presence, Lije stiffened, his glance shooting to the parlor doorway.

The always astute Eliza picked up on the muscles tensing beneath her hand and tightened her grip on his arm in silent admonition. "This is
a family
occasion, Lije." The emphasis was firm. "Whatever bad blood there was between your father and Kipp belongs in the past. We must not allow it to color the present. Kindly remember that Kipp is your mother's only remaining brother. It is time to forgive what cannot be forgotten."

Lije dragged his gaze back to the tall, slender woman. "Still the peacemaker, I see." His mouth twitched with a dry smile.

"Someone in this family has to be. Heaven knows, there have been few occasions sufficiently important to warrant the gathering of all members of this family."

By
all,
Lije knew Eliza was referring specifically to his father and Kipp. Usually one or the other railed to attend a family function. On the rare times that Lije remembered both men being present, the atmosphere had been painfully strained.

"And you decided my homecoming was sufficiently important," Lije guessed.

"I believe that is obvious." She gathered up the front of her skirt hem. "Shall we go in?" Taking his agreement for granted, Eliza made a move toward the parlor. But Lije hung back, earning a puzzled look from her. "What is it?"

"Aren't you going to lecture me on Alex's innocence in all this?" he asked, eyes twinkling. Virtually from the day his cousin was born seventeen years ago, Eliza had set out to make certain that the animosity between Kipp and The Blade, as his father was called, did not extend to their sons. As the oldest, Lije had received the bulk of her lobbying efforts.

She saw the laughter in his eyes, and her lips thinned in prim disapproval. "Now you mock me."

"And you look quite beautiful," he told her. "Indignation becomes you. It brings fire to your eyes and color to your cheeks."

"What nonsense!" But for all the sharpness in her voice, Lije could tell she was secretly pleased by the compliment. There was the tiniest hint of a smile about her mouth when she steered him into the parlor. "Kipp, look who has arrived," she announced, injecting a note of breezy unconcern.

The man at the parlor window turned, and Lije stared into the face of his uncle, his father's enemy. Wings of silver white fanned his temples, contrasting starkly with his otherwise black hair. On most people, the result would be a distinguished appearance. But Lije had never been able to look at those twin streaks of white in Kipp's hair without being reminded of a devil's horns.

This time, the sight triggered a whirl of images from the past for Lije—images of a carriage coming down the lane, his grandfather Shawano Stuart at the reins, gray hair flowing onto his collar. Suddenly, a dozen men, their faces covered with black kerchiefs, spill from the trees, hands reaching, grabbing to pull the old man down. His grandfather disappears, struggling beneath a sea of knife blades flashing in the sunlight, only to resurface, lifeless, face down in the road.

Lije had witnessed the killing of Shawano Stuart when he was less than three years old. The scene remained branded on his mind. He had never forgotten that feeling of abject terror, of being utterly powerless to help the grandfather he adored. And he had never forgotten that Kipp Gordon had been one of the masked men.

Whether justice was carried out in the killing of Shawano Stuart was considered arguable by many. Lije's father regarded it as murder, whereas his mother, Temple, saw it as a legitimate execution, however ignobly carried out.

In 1835, before Lije was born, Shawano Stuart had signed a treaty that surrendered all the Cherokee land in the East to the Federal government. Shawano, and all who signed the document, including The Blade, knew it was an unauthorized treaty, made without consent of the Cherokee people and a direct violation of the Cherokee Blood Law, a crime punishable by death. In truth, the drastic action was a desperate effort to force the leaders of the Cherokee government into negotiating a treaty with the Federal authorities and end the persecution and abuse by the Georgians that had gone on, unabated, for years.

The action cost Shawano and several other cosigners their lives. Lije's father had eluded an attempt on his life and joined others in hiding until amnesty was declared.

Time had passed, but not the memories, not for anyone who had lived during that time. Even now it silenced the words of greeting Lije might have offered his uncle. It was left to Eliza to open the conversation.

"Lije came on ahead," she told Kipp. "Your father and the others will be along shortly."

Nodding, Kipp looked him over. There was no welcome in his expression, but Lije had expected none. "You have grown more like your father." Coming from Kipp, it wasn't a compliment. "I am surprised you finished all four years of college. I thought you would walk away after the first year— as your father did."

"Perhaps I have my mother's tenacity," Lije suggested and deliberately turned to his cousin. Seventeen-year-old Alex Gordon stood off to the side, observing the exchange, his lip curling in amused scorn. He bore a surface resemblance to his father—the black hair, the high cheekbones, straight nose, and black eyes. And like Kipp, he was tall and slender. "It's good to see you again, Alex."

"Hey, Lije." A smile made a wide curve of his mouth and dented his cheeks with attractive creases. In it, Lije saw the youth he remembered—reckless, a little on the wild side, full of charm and guile. "I was about to give up on you. I thought that riverboat had probably run aground somewhere."

Lije shook his head. "The water was up, and the trip was smooth."

"Just my luck," Alex sighed in mock regret. "Here I thought I was going to get your share of the feast Granny El has prepared."

"If I know Eliza, there will be more than enough food for everyone." Lije cast a knowing glance at his stepgrandmother. "The tables usually groan under the weight of it all."

"Naturally, this is a celebration. Speaking of which"—Eliza withdrew her hand from Lije's arm and swung toward the arched doorway—"Shadrach."

The Negro servant appeared within seconds. "Yes, Miss Eliza?"

"Bring some refreshments. I am certain Lije is thirsty after his ride."

"Yes, ma'am." He bobbed his head and withdrew.

The sound of his footsteps was almost immediately lost under the rapid tap-tapping of another pair of feet. A young woman swept into view, dressed in a gown of fawn-colored silk trimmed with Maltese lace. Ribbons caught the mass of amber brown curls and held it high on her head, Lije watched the smile break across her strong-boned face when she saw him.

"Lije," she cried in delight. "I thought I heard your voice."

"Susannah."

"It is so good to have you back." She wrapped her arms around him in a warm hug. "I have missed you, Lije. We all have missed you."

"I have missed you." Lije captured her shoulders and pushed her back from him. "Let me have a look at you." He inspected this woman who had always seemed more like a younger sister to him than an aunt. She was tall, a scant three inches under six feet. Her hazel eyes sparkled with gold flecks, reminding him of a cat. "Where is that tall, skinny girl with sticks for arms and legs who lived here when I left?" Lije shook his head in amazement at Susannah's transformation into womanhood. "You have grown into a very graceful lady while I've been away. You must have suitors lined up at your door every evening."

"What nonsense!" Susannah laughed away his comment, finding the very idea ludicrous. "No man courts a woman who towers over him like an oak tree. And if he does, you can be certain it is my father's favor he is seeking, not mine."

Lije disagreed, but he knew she would simply accuse him of being kind if he argued the point. Susannah had always found fault with her looks, convinced she was too tall and too thin; her hair, too curly; and her face, all strong bones and angles. In her mind, she was far from any definition of beautiful. But the combination had always been a striking one, never more so than now with maturity fleshing out and smoothing away all the rough edges.

"You continue to underestimate yourself, Little Auntie," he teased.

"'Call me that again and I will punch you in the mouth." She narrowed her eyes in mock warning, but the laughter dancing in them erased any threat.