American Dreams (16 page)

Despite this depressing news, Will Gordon insisted, "We must not give up hope. Instead, let us all follow the example set by our principal chief John Ross and our long-respected chieftain Major Ridge and spread the word that our nation—the Cherokees— must remain united in our stand against any new treaty calling for our removal." He insisted that they were not alone in their struggles, that they still had many friends in Washington and Congress. While Chicken Snake Jackson might be their enemy, it was widely believed that Henry Clay would defeat him in next year's election. And Henry Clay, as a friend of the Cherokees, would enforce the terms of the existing treaties.

Moved by his conviction, no one in his family could imagine disagreeing with him. No one did as they gathered in the main parlor at the meal's conclusion to trade further views on the situation and discuss potential strategies.

 

 

 

14

 

 

Gordon Glen

 
July 7, 1831

 

The guests numbered in the hundreds—neighbors, relatives, friends, some traveling considerable distances to be on hand for the joining in marriage of Will Gordon's daughter and Shawano Stuart's son, two of the most respected families in the Nation.

Eliza had made herself a new gown for the occasion, a serviceable one of floral-patterned linen, well suited to the South's warm climate, with gigot sleeves, collar, and fichu pelerine of white gauze. In a burst of extravagance, she had purchased a pink silk bonnet from the trader's store. With it and her black pumps, she felt extremely well dressed and slightly fashionable. Although why that mattered, she didn't know.

Yet she was nervous, and marveled that Temple was not. In fact, Temple looked quite serene as she calmly ate the food served to her by her mother and aunt. She seemed supremely confident, a characteristic Eliza had come to associate with the young woman. It was a trait she often envied for herself.

With the ceremonial meal finished, Temple rose and turned to her mother. Tears trembled on the rim of her lower lashes as Victoria Gordon smiled bravely and tried not to cry, as she had done at odd times for days now. They embraced, then Victoria picked up an ear of corn and a blanket, her hands shaking visibly.
 

"It is time," someone said.

Eliza watched, waiting to see what to do next and privately wondering if it was the unusualness of the proceedings that made her feel so on edge. Temple had insisted that her wedding to The Blade be a combination of Cherokee traditional rites and Christian ceremony, with the former preceding the latter. On one hand, Eliza considered it a rare opportunity to witness native customs, but on the other, the pagan aspect made her uncomfortable.

As the other women, mainly family members—Eliza guessed they could be called attendants—walked to the door, Eliza accompanied them. Behind her, she could hear the delicate swish of Temple's silk gown of pale lavender as she followed them.

Once they were down the staircase, Eliza spied Nathan Cole waiting at the front door, his crossed hands holding the Bible. But the women didn't approach him. Instead, the attendants led the bride to the dining room arch. The Blade and his companions stood in the opposite doorway to the main parlor.

A woman handed The Blade a blanket and a ham of venison. Then Victoria tearfully gave Temple the blanket and corn she carried. With ritualistic slowness, Temple and The Blade walked toward each other, their eyes locked together. Eliza had the distinct feeling that no one else existed for them.

When the couple met in the center of the plantation's great hall, they exchanged the venison and corn, then placed their blankets together. John Ross, the principal chief of the Cherokees, who had been standing next to Nathan, came forward and announced, "The blankets are joined."

Victoria pressed a linen handkerchief to her mouth and began to sob softly into it, the tears now rolling freely down her sallow cheeks. Eliza moved closer to her, concerned that in Victoria's weakened condition, she might suffer another of her terrible coughing spells.

The bride and groom then moved to stand before Nathan. Eliza thought Nathan looked nervous—and proud—as he fumbled briefly before opening the book to the proper page. She smiled, remembering how happy he had been when Temple had requested he perform the wedding ceremony.

"Dearly beloved," he began, his voice cracking, "we are gathered here today in the sight of God to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony . . ."

As she listened to them exchange their vows, their voices ringing so clearly and confidently, rich with feeling, Eliza experienced a twinge of envy. She would never know a love like that. Just for an instant, she wanted to cry. Then she sternly reminded herself that her spinster status was by choice. She had her life's work, and her independence, something no married woman could claim.

"By the powers vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife," Nathan declared.

Eliza didn't join the throng of family and friends that converged on the newly married pair. Instead, she joined Nathan.

"They make a handsome couple." He fairly beamed with pride.

"Indeed." She was obliged to agree.

"Now the feasting begins," Nathan said and smiled a warning. "It is likely to go on for hours."

"Heaven knows enough food has been prepared." Eliza watched as Will Gordon opened the door for the newlyweds.

As The Blade and Temple stepped outside to greet the mass of guests waiting for them to appear, each held an end of the blankets; The Blade carried the corn and Temple the venison.

"Shall we join them?" Nathan offered Eliza his arm. Together, they followed the couple onto the veranda. "This is symbolic, you know," he said in a quiet aside. "The joining of blankets represents a promise to live together, and the trading of venison and corn is an exchange of vows—the man pledging to provide food for her and the woman promising to prepare the meal. A silent but solemn commitment, I suppose you could call it."

The peacocks had long ago abandoned the lawn to the crush of guests now thronging around the newly married couple. The peal of their laughter and their happy shouts spread across the plantation. Caught by the joyous mood, Eliza paused at the top of the veranda steps and let it sweep over her.

When Nathan started down the steps, she pressed her hand more firmly on his arm, checking him. "Wait," she said, gazing at the scene. "Have you ever seen anything like this?"

From the veranda steps of the manor house, built on a natural rise, they could see everything—the swarm of people in their varied and colorful dress, the banquet tables heaped with food beneath the shade trees, and the chain of slaves, moving back and forth between the tables and kitchens. Over it all hung a canopy of blue sky, lit by the blazing bright ball of the sun.

"It seems we have some late arrivals to the wedding," Nathan remarked.

Following the direction of his gaze, Eliza noticed the riders coming up the road. Observing their dusty and slightly disheveled appearance, she wondered how far they had traveled to attend the wedding feast. As she caught sight of the wagon lumbering behind them, two things struck her—they were all men, and they carried muskets.

"The Guard." She dug her fingers into the sleeve of Nathan's coat. "It is the Georgia Guard," she said louder, her certainty growing.

Will Gordon stood before her, his narrowed gaze focused on the approaching band of riders.

"Why are they here? What do they want?" she murmured with both irritation and concern.

"Me." The answer came from Nathan.

Startled, Eliza turned to stare at him. There was a pallor to his face and a drawn, apprehensive look that hadn't been there before. Was he right? Lately the Guard seemed to take considerable delight in baiting and harassing the missionaries. On many occasions, their mockery had amounted to outright blasphemy. Once, after witnessing the baptism of several Cherokee converts in the river, members of the Guard had ridden their horses into the water and proceeded to baptize their steeds, repeating the holy words of the baptismal sacrament in open sacrilege.

Yes, Eliza suspected Nathan had cause to believe he would be the Guard's target. And she knew, too, that he had thus far refrained from swearing an oath of allegiance to Georgia. He was in violation of the law and subject to arrest. No longer did he have the protection of being considered a federal employee. By presidential order, he had been stripped of his position as postmaster.

Suddenly she was worried for him. "Nathan, you must leave ... now."

He hesitated, as if tempted to agree, then his glance skittered over the milling throng, many of them as yet unaware of the Guard's presence. "I cannot," he murmured with a trace of despair.

Eliza regretted suggesting it. How could he flee from those who would persecute him and still urge these people to oppose peacefully any attempt to drive them from the lands that rightfully belonged to them? But Eliza knew from past conversations that there was another choice he would ultimately have to make— to take the oath or refuse. Freedom or imprisonment.

The small detachment of state militia cantered their horses into the crowd. The wedding guests scurried out of their way, the level of voices fading to a murmur. The air was no longer filled with festive sounds but was claimed instead by the clatter of hooves and the creaking of saddle leather. The mounted group reined to a halt and bunched loosely in front of the veranda, their bayonets glistening ominously in the bright sunlight.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen." Will Gordon stepped down, positioning himself between Nathan and the apparent leader of the Guard. "What can I do for you?" His expression remained blandly pleasant and unconcerned.

"Who are you?" Neither the man's tone nor his look could be described as friendly.

"Will Gordon. And you, sir?"

"Jacob Brooks, sergeant in the Georgia Guard." The man straightened, assuming a military erectness in the saddle as if to further assert his authority.

At that moment, The Blade moved to the base of the steps and paused before the mounted soldier. "Sergeant Brooks, we invite you and your men to dismount and join our wedding feast."

Eliza saw Temple flash an angry glance at her new husband. If he was aware of her disapproval, he gave no sign of it.

"A wedding, eh? And who performed this marriage?" the sergeant demanded, his glance already traveling to Nathan.

Nathan cleared his throat nervously. "I did."

"Seize him."

The suddenness—the casualness—of it caught Eliza by surprise. She stared in disbelief as three men dismounted and started up the steps.

"Reverend Cole is my guest," Will Gordon protested.
 

"He is the State of Georgia's guest now," the sergeant replied curtly.

When the three guardsmen surrounded Nathan and grabbed his arms, Eliza tried to stop them. "You cannot do this." When they pushed her out of the way, she turned on the sergeant. "Where is your warrant?"

"We have no need of one."

"Then what is the charge?" she demanded angrily. "Why are you arresting him?"

"We don't need a reason." He turned in his saddle, deliberately ignoring her. "Bring up the wagon."

Amidst the jingling rattle of harness and trace chains, a baggage wagon trundled forward. In shock and dismay, Eliza stared at the two men stumbling along behind it, frantically clutching at the neck chains that bound them to the back of the wagon. She recognized Samuel Worcester, Nathan's fellow missionary at New Echota.

As the guardsmen hauled Nathan to the wagon, Eliza ran down the steps. "No. You have no right!"

A pair of hands caught her from behind, crushing the full sleeves of her gown in an iron grip and stopping her headlong rush. "Miss Hall, no," Will Gordon muttered near her ear, urging caution.

But she continued to strain against his hold as she watched them wind a trace chain around Nathan's neck, then similarly attach it to a horse ridden by one of the Guard. Part of her knew she was powerless to prevent this, yet she refused to stand by and do nothing while they treated this kind, gentle man like a common felon.

The rider abruptly wheeled his horse around, causing a yank on the chain which sent Nathan to his knees. He managed to scramble to his feet in time to avoid being dragged when the rider put a heel to his horse and sent it lunging forward. He laughed at Nathan's frantic attempts to keep up. The rest of the Guard swung in behind them, cutting off her view.

Eliza sagged backward in defeat, now letting the hands support her. "Where will they take him?" she wondered aloud as the small cavalcade rode away from the house.

"To Camp Gilmer, outside of Lawrenceville, I expect," Will answered.

Eliza stared at the cloud of red dust kicked up by the company of the state militia. "This is wrong." She balled her hands into fists. "All of it—everything—it is just so wrong!"

"Yes."

The wedding feast continued, but it never recaptured its earlier carefree and happy mood.

 

A purpling twilight bathed the shadows cast by the towering trees that graced the lawn of Seven Oaks. The main house was a large, two-story structure built of wood. Its exterior was weather-boarded and painted a crisp white. There were verandas front and back, and a balcony above the front porch supported by turned columns. And everywhere there were windows flanked by painted shutters.

At the back of the house, Phoebe counted two kitchens and decided the third building was a smokehouse. From the outside, Seven Oaks looked every bit as big as Gordon Glen. She leaned forward in the carriage seat, straining to see more of her new home.

She was excited and scared all at the same time. Her stomach was all fluttery and jumpy like a chicken with a fox outside the pen. She wasn't Master Will's property anymore. She was Miss Temple's dower Negro. She had on her best dress, made from store-bought cloth, and brass-toed shoes, while the rest of her few belongings were tied in a bundle at her feet.