Legacies (7 page)

"What happened to that horse thief you were after?" Kipp wanted to know, a touch of smug challenge in his question. "Did he get away?"

"No. We caught him last night." Catching the clatter of hooves on the hard-packed ground, Lije looked back as Sam Blackburn rode in, leading the prisoner and the stolen horses. He halted close to the carriage, nodded first to Lije and then to the others, but didn't speak. "We're on our way to the district courthouse with him."

Kipp stared at the prisoner. "I heard the man he shot died the next morning."

"He did." When Lije glanced at his uncle, he caught a flash of metal on the man's coat lapel. It was a small lapel pin, fashioned in the shape of two crossed pins. Lije instantly had a nagging feeling that the pin had some significance—that it had been described to him before. He couldn't recall when, or by whom, or what it represented. But there was an identical pin on Alex's lapel.

"What will happen to him?" Sorrel asked, all round-eyed.

"He will be kept under guard until his trial, which will probably be tomorrow or the day after." The Cherokee Constitution guaranteed that every citizen of the Nation would receive a speedy and fair trial.

"Will they hang him?" she asked in a near whisper, showing a child's mixture of morbid curiosity and apprehension.

Lije hesitated, searching for a way to spare his little sister some of the harsher realities of life. But Alex, feeling no such compunction, interjected, "If he is judged guilty, he will likely be hanged the same day."

"Is that true?" She looked at Lije and unconsciously moved closer to their mother.

"He has to be found guilty of stealing and murder first." But in the Cherokee justice system, sentences were carried out as swiftly as the trials.

The rasping toot of the steam whistle collectively turned their attention away from the prisoner to the riverboat as it maneuvered away from the landing, seeking the river's channel. Arms waved in farewell to its passengers.

With the departure of the paddle wheeler, there was no more reason to linger. Kipp and Alex were the first to say their goodbyes, leaving Lije with his mother and little sister.

"We will see you tonight then?" his mother said after Lije had assisted her into the carriage.

Lije nodded. "Have a bath and a hot meal waiting for me."

"I will."

"Can't you come home with us now?" Sorrel protested.

"He has to take the prisoner in," Temple explained for him. She cast one last, smiling glance at Lije, then signaled to their Negro driver to proceed.

The driver flicked his whip over the backs of the team and urged them forward with the reins. Lije stepped back from the carriage's wheels and waited for it to rumble past, then looped his reins over the bay's neck, and climbed into the saddle once more.
 

"Ready?" Lije said.

Sam Blackburn nodded, but the prisoner simply looked at him, a little pale and glassy-eyed with pain and despair. Lije took the reins to the prisoner's horse, and they set out. Nothing more was said until the settlement was a good mile behind them. "If you met a man wearing an insignia of crossed pins on his coat, what would it tell you, Sam?"

Sam shot him a quick, measuring glance, then looked straight ahead. He took his time answering. "It would tell me the man has joined the Keetoowahs."

"The Keetoowahs?" Lije frowned.

"It's a secret society. Its members are mostly full-bloods, but it is led by the missionary Evan Jones."

"The abolitionist." Lije now recalled hearing that the insignia of crossed pins indicated the wearer belonged to an anti-slavery group operating within the Nation. At the time he had been troubled that the Northern movement to free the slaves had spread into the Nation. He knew firsthand how zealous some of its believers could be. But that wasn't what troubled him now. "It makes no sense that my uncle Kipp belongs to it. He cares nothing about Negroes. In fact he owns several field-workers himself."

"The members also claim they seek to preserve the old traditions of the Cherokee."

There were many old traditions in the Cherokee culture, but Lije could think of only one that Kipp would seek to keep alive—the Cherokee Blood Law, which called for the death of any Cherokee who signed away tribal lands—as Lije's father had done all those years ago. Alex would naturally go along with his father.

"Hatred is an ugly thing, Sam. It always starts out small, as a little seed of resentment that is held close and fed with bitter thoughts. If it isn't cast out, it puts down roots and begins to grow. And the more years it's nourished, the bigger it grows until a man is blinded by it—until he can see, hear, and feel nothing but his hatred."

Sam grunted an acknowledgment but made no comment. Silence stretched between them before Sam broke it with a seemingly idle remark. "I heard Stand Watie has asked your father to join the local chapter of the Knights of the Golden Circle."

This was another secret organization that was ostensibly proslavery. Stand Watie was the brother of the late Elias Boudinot, a signer of the so-called Phantom Treaty, just as Lije's father had been. And just as Shawano Stuart had died at assassins' hands, so had Elias Boudinot.

Lije felt this news travel through him like a chill down his spine. Like the American states, the Cherokee Nation was slowly beginning to separate into opposing camps with slavery as their banner. But they were banding together along old lines, ones that had divided Major Ridge and his supporters of the Phantom Treaty from those loyal to principal chief John Ross, who had fought against the treaty right up to the moment of removal, that eventful day the Cherokees were forced to move westward.

A black cloud darkened the sky. In the distance thunder rumbled. A storm was coming. Lije saw it clearly.

 

 

 

4

 

 

Springfield, Massachusetts

The First Week of September 1860

 

The maple trees on the Wickham estate still wore their summer green colors, but there was a slight nip in the air that warned of autumn's approach. As the carriage swung onto the long drive that led to the brick manor house, Susannah sat forward in eager anticipation of greeting her friend Diane Parmelee once again.

She and Diane had known one another for as long as Susannah could remember. As a child, she had looked on Diane Parmelee as her best friend. She still did, even though they hadn't actually seen each other in five years.

Smiling, Susannah thought back to the girl she had known at Fort Gibson. Beautiful Diane with her honey gold hair, china blue eyes and a face that could only be described as exquisite was petite and, in short, everything that Susannah was not. Yet she had adored Diane, and the two had seized every opportunity to see each other . . . until that day outside the sutler's store at the fort.

The memory of that incident still sprang vividly into her mind. It stunned her now as it had done so long ago. . . .

 

Susannah heard a young girl's laugh, rising like the notes of the musical scale. Glancing up from the marbles game in progress, she saw her nine-year-old friend Diane walking toward the sutler's store, holding her father's hand. Susannah's joy was instant.

From the moment Susannah had learned they were going to Fort Gibson, she had hoped and hoped she would get to see Diane Parmelee. Most times she did. The sutler's store was close to the officers' quarters where Diane lived. If the weather was nice, she could usually find Diane playing outside. Excitedly, Susannah tapped Lije on the shoulder. "Look. Here comes Diane."

"I see her," he said without looking up, the shooter marble resting in the crook of his forefinger, his thumb cocked behind it as he took aim at one of Susannah's marbles.

"How could you? You haven't even looked."

"I saw her when she came around the corner with Captain Parmelee. I always see things before you do." He let the shooter fly. It cracked against her marble, knocking it out of the circle.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He shrugged. "That was your best green marble. Now it's mine."

Susannah ignored the baiting gleam in his eye. The loss of her favorite marble suddenly didn't seem important, not with Diane approaching. Hurriedly, Susannah straightened from her crouched position and waved to her friend. Diane waved back and said something to her father. He smiled and nodded, releasing her hand to let her run ahead.

As the girl drew closer, Susannah experienced a small twinge of envy. Diane was the perfect picture of little-girl fashion. Her dress was pale violet, trimmed with purple ribbons. The delicate lace of her petticoats peeked from beneath the skirt's hem. Violet and purple ribbons trailed from the straw hat she wore. Her hair was curled in shiny gold ringlets, framing a face that always reminded Susannah of a china doll with its big, blue eyes, thick lashes, pointy chin, and perfectly shaped mouth. She knew she suffered by comparison, her rose pink dress hanging loosely on her scrawny frame, her hair a mass of unruly curls, and her arms and legs all bony and thin. As always, when confronted by Diane's undeniable perfection, Susannah lifted her chin a little higher.

"Susannah, I didn't know you were here today." The joy in Diane's expression gave Susannah a feeling of importance and worth. "Have you been here long?"

"Not long," Susannah assured her, then discovered Lije was now standing beside her.

Diane gave him a sidelong look through her lashes, a small smile of pleasure touching the comers of her mouth. "Aren't you going to speak to me, Lije?"

"How are you?" he said, his expression guarded, his eyes intent in their study of her.

"Very well, thank you." She rewarded him with a big smile. "If I had known you were going to be here, I would have come to the store with Mama. Did you go by our quarters to see if I was there? Papa and I went for a walk." She swung her smile to the captain as he joined them.

"Susannah, Lije, it's good to see you." Captain Parmelee acknowledged their presence with a nod.

Susannah unconsciously stood straighter, mimicking his erect posture.

"How do you do, Captain Parmelee?" Her words were formal, but her smile was easy.

She had known Captain Parmelee all her life. He had known her since the Gordons lived in Georgia. Over the years she had heard endless stories about him. Her favorite was the time in Washington, D. C, when he first met her half sister Temple and taught her the waltz. It had painted a vivid picture in her mind, one that had taken on a romantic overtone after Susannah overheard her mother, Eliza, remark that she suspected Captain Parmelee was still half in love with Temple, even though he was married to someone else.

"What are you children doing?" Captain Parmelee asked.

"Playing marbles," Susannah said to draw attention away from the sudden tightening of Lije's jaw. She knew he didn't like being called a child. He thought twelve was too old to be called that.

"Who's winning?'' Diane glanced down at the game in progress.
 

"Lije is. He always wins."

"He's older," Captain Parmelee offered in consolation, then turned his gaze on Lije. "Is your mother here?"

Lije nodded. "She and Eliza are in the store."

"I see." He half-turned, his attention drawn to the store's entrance.

"Do you play marbles?" Susannah asked Diane.

"Not very well," she admitted with regret.

"I could show you," Lije volunteered.

"Would you like to play with us?"

Diane turned eagerly to her father. "Please, may I, Papa?"

"How can I refuse when you look at me with those big, beautiful eyes?" he teased, and Diane giggled. "You stay here and play with Lije and Susannah while I go inside and see if your mother has finished her shopping."

"I hope she hasn't. But if she has, maybe you can find something else for her to look at," Diane suggested impishly.

The captain laughed and shook his head in mock dismay, smiling ruefully. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, Papa. Thank you ever so much," she declared, all aglow with her success.

"Be careful not to get that pretty dress dirty, or your mother will have my hide."

"I'll be careful, Papa," Diane promised.

"You children have fun." He moved off toward the sutler's store, his stride lengthening.

Susannah took his previous admonition seriously. "If you tuck the back of your skirt behind your knees when you crouch down, your dress won't touch the dirt," she said and proceeded to show Diane the proper way.

Diane copied her actions and carefully arranged the front of her skirt over her knees. Soon all three were crouched around the collection of marbles on the ground.

"Do you know the rules?" Lije asked.

"Some of them." Diane nodded. To Susannah's surprise, Lije showed no exasperation with Diane's lack of knowledge of the game. Patiently, he explained everything. "The object is to knock the other person's marbles out of the circle."

"But I don't have any marbles."

"You can have some of mine," Lije volunteered.

"May I have that blue one? It's ever so pretty." Diane pointed to one that Susannah knew was Lije's best marble.

"Sure," he said without hesitation.

Susannah stared at him in amazement, then realized he was certain to win it back. Taking his lead, she gave some of her own marbles to Diane. Once the marbles were evenly divided, Lije demonstrated the use of the shooter marble. Diane watched in dismay as he pocketed a red marble of Susannah's that he had successfully knocked out of the dirt circle.

"You get to keep the marble you hit out of the circle? But that means I could lose my blue one. You are so much better at playing this game than I am. I won't have a chance."

"I'll use my left hand to shoot the marble instead of my right. I'm not as good with that hand."

"That would be the fair way," Susannah agreed.

Lije proved to be adept with his left hand, but not nearly as accurate. He missed with his next shot. Susannah took her turn, but out of courtesy to Diane, she didn't aim at the blue marble. She scored twice and missed.