American Dreams (38 page)

And what had they found when they got here? More of the same shoddy treatment they had endured on the trail. True, the land was good. The hardwood forests would provide game for their tables, lumber for their homes, and fuel for their fires. The rich soil of the river bottoms and valleys would grow their crops. But the rest of the promises in the treaty, the treaty they had never agreed to—in one short morning, Jed had seen and gleaned enough information to know just how well those were being kept. Maybe it didn't fit squarely under the heading of army business, but Jed intended to report those things as well.

Just ahead, he spotted a small gathering and rode over to investigate. At his approach, the group began to disperse, wandering off in twos and threes. A half dozen remained, solemnly shaking hands with a man clad in a heavy mackinaw with a wide-brimmed hat pulled low on his forehead, partially concealing the shock of sandy hair beneath it. Jed glanced at the book in the man's hand and reined his horse to a halt. Was it a Bible? From twenty feet away, Jed couldn't tell.

Despite the angular thinness of the man's face, one glance and Jed knew the man hadn't been on the trail. The warm clothes, the sturdy shoes, the ruddy color of his cheeks, and the well-fed horse tied to the wagon behind him marked him as either one of the mixed bloods already settled here, one of the white traders under government contract, or a missionary. Jed was curious to learn which. He waited until the man was alone, then walked his horse closer.

The man smiled, his glance flickering briefly to the lieutenant's bars on his shoulder. "Good afternoon, Lieutenant."

Jed caught a glimpse of the book's gold lettering. It was a Bible. "Afternoon, Reverend. It is Reverend, isn't it?"

"Yes. Reverend Nathan Cole from the Dwight Mission."

"Dwight Mission. That's about halfway between here and Fort Smith, isn't it?" Jed recalled, and observed the missionary's affirmative nod. "That's a long day's ride. You're ranging pretty far afield."

"Perhaps. But with so many caravans arriving from the East, I felt I should come where I could do the most good. From the tragic stories I have heard, these people are in need of spiritual sustenance now."

Jed laughed. "Forgive me, Reverend. I don't mean to make light of God or His power. But I don't think prayer is going to take the weevils out of the flour they have been issued, or make the meat taste less rancid, or put fat on the sick and scrawny cattle they have been given in place of the quality beef they were promised by the government. If you want to pray for someone, pray for the men who won the government contract to supply them with provisions and are now making a huge profit by issuing substandard goods. If you want to try and help these people, get them warm clothes, find homes for their orphans, and look after their sick. That will do more to restore their belief in a fair and just God than reading a few passages out of the Bible." He paused and smiled ruefully. "Seems like I'm the one who's preaching now. My apologies, Reverend Cole."

"It isn't necessary. Perhaps the sermon was deserved."

"But I'm not the one to be making it. I'll let you go on with your work. I have some good-byes to say." He wheeled the eager bay away from the missionary and pointed it toward a small semicircle of tents some distance away, the site of the Gordon camp.

When he rode up, Eliza stood next to the cookfire, a hand raised to shield her eyes against the glare of the sun. The ravages of the trail were evident in the stringy thinness of her arms and the dark hollows under her eyes. Looking at her dirty and matted hair, her ragged and soiled clothes, Jed was more conscious of his own cleanness than ever.

"Lieutenant Parmelee. Without your beard, I almost didn't recognize you," Eliza said when he reined in. "Step down and warm yourself by the fire. Although it isn't all that cold today. I can't help wondering why we could not have had some of this mild weather on the trail."

"I don't expect we will ever know the answer to that." He swung down from the saddle and scanned the camp. Except for the stout colored woman and her son, there was no one else in sight. "Where is everyone?"

"Will and Kipp went to apply for our rations," Eliza said, then hesitated. "Temple left this morning. They went to join The Blade's father. He emigrated here more than a year ago and built a home farther north along the Grand River."

"I'm surprised the rest of you didn't go with them."

"The Blade and his father are members of the treaty party. They signed it. To live with them, even for a short time—" Eliza searched for the words that would explain the deep resentment Will would have felt, with all the pain and suffering of the trail still fresh. Not to mention the violent hatred Kipp felt. Finally she settled for an inadequate "It would never have worked."

Jed tried to think of something else to say—anything—but the words wouldn't come. Temple was gone, and he'd had no chance to tell her good-bye.

"I... I wish I had known Temple was leaving. I would have liked to wish her well."

"I am sure Temple knew that."

"I am leaving myself in the morning, traveling by riverboat this time," Jed explained. "Before I left, I wanted to come by and .. . tell you all good-bye, I guess." He inwardly struggled to hold on to his purpose in coming. Without Temple here, he had no desire to linger.

"I will tell the others for you. I know Will will be sorry he wasn't here to wish you a safe journey home. You were a friend to us, Jed. Thank you."

"Good luck to you." Jed climbed back on his horse and turned it toward the fort.

All the way back, he kept telling himself it was just as well he hadn't seen Temple again. It was over. She had made her choice. In his pocket was a letter from Cecilia. Written just before Christmas, it had been waiting for him when he arrived. She had suggested a spring wedding. Why not? Jed thought, gripped now by a mood of sober resignation.

 

As Eliza laid Will's freshly laundered spare shirt atop the blanket on the ground inside the tent, she noticed a tear in the sleeve. Sighing, she picked up the shirt and examined the rip.

She supposed she could patch it with some material from her petticoat. The poor undergarment was so tattered now it was hardly worth wearing.

"Miss Eliza," Shadrach called from outside the tent.

"Yes, what is it?" She didn't mean to sound so tired and irritable, and lonely. Temple had left only this morning. It was silly to be missing her already. Yet the camp seemed so quiet and empty without Temple, The Blade, and little Lije... and Deu and Phoebe, too.

"There's a rider coming this way," Shadrach said.

"I will be right out." Eliza refolded the shirt and put it back on the blanket, unable to summon any enthusiasm for the unknown visitor, certain it was probably someone looking for Will. With an effort, she pushed to her feet and crossed to the tent flap. When she lifted the canvas aside, she felt the soreness of her raw, chapped hands. Momentarily preoccupied with the throbbing pain in them, she stared blankly at the man on horseback.

"Hello." He leaned forward in the saddle. "Do you speak English?"

Frowning, Eliza nodded. That voice, it sounded as if it belonged to someone she had known long ago. Or was it only her imagination conjuring up something familiar?

The slanting rays of a setting sun shadowed the man's face. He dismounted to stand beside his horse. "I am Reverend Cole from the Dwight Mission."

"Nathan." She spoke his name in shock and took a single step forward. "Nathan?" She questioned her own eyes. Did that bulky coat hide a slim, gangly figure? Was there a thatch of sandy hair under that hat? "Is that you, Nathan Cole?"

"Yes." He moved hesitantly toward her. "I'm sorry. Do I know y—Eliza?" He frowned in disbelief.

"Yes." She swallowed back the hysterical laugh that tried to bubble out of her throat. She knew how she must look to him, her dirty hair all loose and matted instead of tightly pinned in its bun, her gown soiled and torn with a blanket draped around her shoulders instead of a shawl, her skin chapped and red instead of fair and smooth, not to mention the weight she had lost and the hollows under her eyes. "I know I don't resemble the Eliza you remember, but it really is me."

"How—" Nathan seized her arms and held her away from him, unable to believe his eyes. "What are you doing here? I thought you had gone home to New England. How did you get here?"

"I came with the Gordons." Eliza could feel the tears coming.

"Over the trail?" Nathan said incredulously.

"Yes."

"But.. . how? You're—"

"I claimed I was a cousin. Although actually no one even asked whether I was Cherokee or not," Eliza remembered, then noticed the look on his face. "I couldn't leave them, Nathan. I couldn't let them go through all that alone. They needed me. They .. . needed me." Her voice trailed off to a whisper as tears began to roll down her checks. When she swayed toward him, Nathan gathered her into his gentle embrace. She rested her cheek against the wool of his coat, letting it absorb her tears. "Little Johnny, the baby, he died while we were in the detention camp. Then on the trail, Xandra died .. . and Victoria. Shadrach's father, Ike, is dead as well."

She wept softly, crying for those they had buried, for the suffering they had all known, for the grandeur of Gordon Glen forever lost to them, for the log schoolhouse she had taught in, and the clothes and personal items she had been forced to leave behind. It was gone. It was all gone.

"I'm sorry," Nathan murmured when she finished.

"We lost virtually everything." Eliza breathed in deeply to check the flow of tears. Drawing back, she self-consciously wiped the tears from her cheeks. "I had forgotten how easy it always was to talk to you. I have missed that."

"I have . . . often thought about you."

"I haven't asked how you are," Eliza realized guiltily.

"I am fine." He dismissed the question with a quick shake of his head.

"Would you like some coffee? I can have Cassie put some on to boil. Although, I warn you, there is more chicory than coffee in it."

"No, I don't want any." He sounded impatient with her. "Eliza, I can't allow this deception of yours to continue. You can't live like this." He swept a hand at the tent, the primitive cookfire, and her own disheveled appearance. "I want you to come back to the mission with me. The women there can look after you and—"

"No."

"It isn't right, Eliza. I will be leaving for Tennessee in a week or two. You can travel with me."

"I am grateful for your concern, Nathan, but I am not leaving here, not after all I have gone through to get here."

"But what will you do?"

Just then Eliza saw Will and Kipp approaching the camp. "We have a visitor, Will," she called to him. Will hesitated in midstride, then continued toward them. Eliza noticed for the first time the faint stoop of his broad shoulders and the distinct sprinkling of gray in his hair. "You remember Nathan Cole, don't you?" she said as Will walked to them.

"Yes, of course, Reverend Cole." He reached out to shake hands with him, rags still tied around his own for gloves.

"Mr. Gordon," Nathan acknowledged. "It has been a long time."

"Yes," Will agreed, then glanced at Eliza, a deep, haunting sadness in his eyes. Finally, he looked back at Nathan. "Several years ago, you performed a marriage ceremony for my daughter. Would you be kind enough to perform the same service for Eliza and myself?" He ignored the surprised look on Nathan's face and glanced again at Eliza. "That is, of course, if it is agreeable to you?"

She didn't understand why he considered it necessary to ask. "It is."

There had never been any discussion of marriage between them, not even after Victoria had died. In the back of her mind, Eliza had known Will was free to marry her, but it hadn't seemed important, involved as they were in a daily struggle just to survive. It had always been something she would think about another day, when she was warm and the ordeal was over. Now that day had come—for both of them.

She completely forgot that she had ever told Nathan she was never going to marry. When he pronounced them man and wife, she didn't hear his voice break or notice the stiffness of his features. She was Mrs. Will Gordon now.

 

 

 

32

 

 

Cherokee Nation, Indian Territory
 

June 1839

 

The tension at the table was dreadful, belying the cheerful twittering of the birds. Out of the corner of her eye, Eliza watched as Black Cassie served Nathan a portion of fresh green beans from a clay bowl, a bowl Eliza had crudely fashioned and baked herself. The ladle Cassie used had been carved out of wood by Kipp, as were nearly all their utensils.

Certain that she had never endured a situation as awkward and uncomfortable as this, Eliza fixed her gaze on the tabletop's rough planks. She had no cloth to cover it, and if she had, the numerous splinters of wood sticking up would have snagged it. Why had she suggested that they have their noon meal outside where the sunlight could expose the rustic simplicity of their existence? But it would have been worse if Nathan had seen the inside of the primitively furnished shack that was their home.

Self-consciously, she reached up and felt the back of her hair to make certain the mass of long curls was still securely bound by the childish blue ribbon. There hadn't been time to sweep it into a neat bun. When Nathan came riding up around midmorning, she had been unable to do more than pull the kerchief off her head, quickly run a brush through the tangle of thick curls, and tie it at the nape of her neck with the ribbon.

As for changing clothes, Eliza had nothing better than what she was wearing now. The top was one of Will's shirts that she had cut down, and she had pieced together the skirt with material from her old petticoats. With Cassie's help, she had made up some indigo dye and dyed them both blue. The apron was one that Temple had given her. Eliza tucked her feet farther under the chair so her long skirt would hide the leather moccasins she wore, the only covering she had for them.