Timecachers (60 page)

“Did she tell you her reasons?” Tom asked.

“She did. She said that she is very sick, and wants Guwaya to give his attention to the rest of the family. She believes that an escape attempt would endanger the others, and she does not want Guwaya to risk capture, leaving her family without an adult male. As you could probably tell from her outburst, she is most resolute.”

“Her recovery would be quicker if she could get out of this place,” Tom said.

“I have made that point to her. It was then she told me that the camp physician diagnosed her with camp fever. As you may know, her chance of recovery from that is… not very good, even if she escapes this fort.”

“Camp fever? You mean typhus!” Tom took Ahni’s hand and looked at her in disbelief. She nodded to him, unemotional, but confirming the dreadful diagnosis.

“Damn, man. I know typhus is serious,” said Sal, “but it’s curable, ain’t it?”

“It is with antibiotics,” Tom answered.

Sal frowned. “Which they didn’t have in 1838; I forgot about that. We take stuff like penicillin for granted. Holy crap,” he exclaimed. “Is there nothing that can be done for her?”

“The military is not overly concerned about curing an old Indian woman,” said Jason. “In any case, there is not much to be done other than providing her with a place to rest, which they have done. Our Tsalagi healers have had some success using special plants, but that requires a knowledgeable gatherer who has the freedom to collect them. Even with treatment, at Ahni’s age, recovery is unlikely.”

“Dude, we can’t just leave her here to…” Typical of Sal, he expressed the sympathy he felt for Ahni with anger. “The old lady deserves to spend her last days somewhere better than this stinking shed. Can’t you dudes convince her to change her mind?”

Ahni, either understanding enough of Tom and Sal’s questions or guessing their meaning, tightened her grip on Tom’s hand and began speaking in Tsalagi. Her leathery hand felt warm and dry against his skin as she spoke to him with gentle resolve. The three men let her speak without interruption until she completed all she had to say. Tom and Sal looked to Jason for a translation.

“Ahni said that she is appreciative of your concern for her well-being and knows how difficult it is for you, who have had very little teaching in the Tsalagi ways, to understand her decision. She explains that she is simply joining with those who have already gone to the west before her. She also asks that you carry her message back to Guwaya. Ahni says that most times she allows Guwaya to have his way, but this time she insists he must respect her wishes. She said to tell Guwaya that he is to give his full attention to Woyi and the children, protecting them from harm while they are in hiding and returning to their land when the time is right. She says that his children are his future, not her. He is not to make an attempt to remove her from this place; this is where she will spend the last of her days. That is her decision, and she will speak no more of it.”

Once again Sal looked as if he were about to argue, but Tom spoke up first. “Please tell her that we understand her traditions enough to respect her authority, and will sadly relay her message to Guwaya. Also tell her that it has been a privilege to spend time with her, and thank her for the kindness she has shown to me during my stay at her home. Tell her that I very much enjoyed our time together, and I will pray for her recovery. When she is better I will return, hopefully to hear she has reconsidered.”

Jason translated Tom’s statement into Tsalagi and the old woman responded in kind, her words followed with a slight smile and a shrug.

“Ahni says you are most welcome, and that knowing you has been interesting and enjoyable. She said she appreciates your prayers, but she is certain that she will depart for the West from here.

“If there is nothing further,” Jason continued hesitantly, “I suggest that we leave this place before drawing suspicion.”

“Yes, of course,” Tom answered. He choked back the sadness he felt, not wanting to embarrass Ahni with what she would consider a show of weakness. He hardened his face and gave her a final, solemn nod, then slowly released her hand.

Sal handed his bag of produce to Jason. “I’ll leave this stuff for Ahni. The fresh veggies will be good for her.”

The three men exited the barracks and were joined by Jason’s friend as they walked toward the gate. “I believe it would be best for us to take our leave here,” Jason said. “I am glad I was able to be of assistance to you and Guwaya. I wish the outcome were better. I do not envy the message you must deliver to him.”

“I ain’t really looking forward to it either, Chief Waterboy,” said Sal. “Thanks for your help with Ahni, though. I know going out west ain’t your choice, but I hope you get there safely.” Jason accepted Sal’s good wishes with a nod.

“I’m not sure how Guwaya will react to Ahni’s message,” said Tom. “It’s possible he may want to contact you about her…”

“I am at his disposal if he should wish it; contact me as before through the stockade wall. Farewell and good peace to you both, Tom and Sal.”

Tom and Sal departed the fort without incident, easily merging into the procession of exiting vendors, relieved to be leaving the fort but dreading the news they carried to Guwaya.

Chapter forty-nine

A
dam and Alice were shocked at how rapidly the Cherokees in Fort Wool had deteriorated. Deprived of access to adequate facilities for proper hygiene and to their own supplies for even a change of clothing, combined with the crowded stockade and the anxiety of the forceful removal from their homes, their usual tidiness had become displaced by a rough and shabby appearance.

The deplorable conditions began to adversely affect their health as well as their appearance. The provisions distributed by the military barely met the minimum nutritional requirements for survival. The additional food Constance, Adam, and Alice brought in was never enough, since it was shared with as many people as possible. Many who became sick worsened, as their weakened state put them at risk of contracting one of the many illnesses running rampant in the fort. The warming weather added to the misery by providing the multitude of viruses and bacteria with an ideal breeding environment.

Sally’s health degraded swiftly. She became listless and generally nonresponsive to Catherine’s attention, refusing to eat or take the crude remedies her mother could produce from her limited supplies. The little girl was somewhat more responsive to Alice, brightening visibly when she was around. Alice spent every day with her, tirelessly adlibbing stories about Basil the Beaver while holding her hand and shooing the flies from her perspiration-soaked face. To Catherine’s relief, Sally more willingly accepted food and medicine whenever Alice was around.

Constance was also worried about Sally’s declining health. It pleased her to know Sally was benefitting from the food she was bringing and was determined to do something more. Normally Constance would not consider using her husband’s position to get special treatment. In this case, however, she believed the seriousness of Sally’s illness compelled her to take advantage of her status with the fort’s physician. Already overworked and none too happy about tending to the health of the stockade full of Indians, the doctor was at first reluctant to pay any heed to Constance’s request to examine Sally. He roughly dismissed her, claiming he could hardly keep up with the seriously ill adults and had no time for a child’s complaints. Her persistence, and a subtle reminder of her husband’s rank, eventually persuaded the grumpy doctor to give Sally a brief, cursory examination.

The doctor emitted a few professional hums and murmurs, his demeanor relaxing as he realized the urgency of Sally’s condition. He provided Catherine with a bottle of elixir he claimed would help alleviate her symptoms. “Plenty of rest and fresh air along with the medicine should do the trick,” he prescribed.

Slowly, thanks to the doctor’s prescription and Alice’s attentions, Sally’s health began to show signs of improvement. Catherine and Alice shared a look of cautious optimism when the youngster improved enough to emit a tiny giggle, as brief and diminutive as it was, in response to one of Alice’s stories.

Initially Constance had been guardedly tolerated by the Cherokees. Eventually her gentle and caring personality, the food she brought, and her intercession with the doctor, softened the Indians taciturn manners. Her charity was offered with respectful kindness rather than pity, treating each person with politeness and quickly catching on to the cultural mores that eluded many other well-meaning whites. The Cherokees rewarded her with their typical warmth and friendliness.

She was also gaining favor among the soldiers. There were still those who resented her interference, voicing their disdain with loud conversations about “Indian lovers,” which Constance simply ignored; a remarkable accomplishment considering their volume. Abusive guards were not the majority, but certainly the most vocal. She instead gave her attention to the soldiers who showed respect and compassion for their Cherokee charges, rewarding them with choice bits of the vittles she brought. This sparked a competition among several of the men, each trying to perform acts of kindness that might win them one of Constance’s pies or cakes. Even those not participating in the competition refrained from chiding their peers in hopes of receiving a share of the reward.

True to her station as a respectable southern woman and officer’s wife, she kept her feelings about the Indian removal to herself. This became increasingly difficult for her to do; as she became more personally involved with the Cherokee families, the more her disapproval of the unjust policy developed. The experience was giving her insight into the inner conflict her beloved husband was dealing with.

Captain Martin was undaunted in the performance of his duty, yet he was increasingly conflicted by his personal objections to the forced removal. This was not the first time he had to put aside personal feelings in deference to duty; wartime actions sometimes demanded that. He had sworn an oath of allegiance as a military officer, something he did not take lightly and would not disavow. Still, the pride he had once felt from serving his country now felt tainted. He could find no honor in displacing an entire nation of indigenous people.

Each day he spent ushering people to the fort increased the burden on his conscience. Today he had received new orders; he would be escorting a group of Cherokees to Ross’s Landing. The change in duties was bittersweet, thankful not to be removing families from their homes, but dreading the difficult and sorrowful exodus he was to lead. There was little time to dwell upon his new distasteful assignment. He was to inform the Cherokees that they would be departing at sunrise.

Most of the detainees accepted the news with dispirited indifference. Departing the cramped, unhealthy fort and escaping the hostilities of the abusive guards would be a relief. The reality of being force-marched away from their homeland—a reality many had refused to accept until now—was terrifying.

For Benjamin and Catherine, the news was devastating. Sally had scarcely shown the barest signs of recovery and was in no condition for an arduous journey. Benjamin protested loudly to the guards, so vociferously that he was on the verge of receiving a thrashing had Captain Martin not interceded. He took Benjamin aside, calming him slightly by sincerely listening to his objections. While sympathetic to Benjamin’s concern for his daughter, there was little he could do. His orders were clear; they would leave at sunrise for Ross’s Landing, heedless of any objections, complaints, gripes, or illnesses.

Benjamin’s wrath was slightly eased with the news that their wagon and goods would be returned, and if Benjamin could make room, Sally could ride in it. Captain Martin also suggested Benjamin request the fort physician reexamine Sally.

“I have already done that,” said Benjamin. “A waste of time! Not but a few days ago, he prescribed plenty of rest. Today he says the exercise will do her good!”

“I see,” said Captain Martin, making a mental note to have a word with the good doctor. “Perhaps he believes her to be recovering well enough to change his treatment recommendations.”

“Sally can barely stand, let alone exercise!” Benjamin said, his ire rising.

“I do understand your concern,” Martin said sympathetically. “Unfortunately there is no alternative. Even if she were allowed to stay, the rest of the family could not, and I am quite sure you would not want to leave her behind on her own. As I have said, she will be able to ride in your wagon to Ross’s Landing, and she will at least be with her family. You are aware that the conditions here are not very healthful, so a change of environment may be beneficial.”

Benjamin responded with a hard stare, not nearly convinced. Martin sensed his skepticism and could hardly blame the man. He would feel the same way if it was his own daughter, but the decision had been made by his superiors and was out of his hands.

“I truly wish I could give your daughter a few more days before making the trip, but it is just not possible. You will have to make her as comfortable as possible in your wagon.” He turned and strode off before Benjamin became enraged once again, knowing it would not be constructive to debate the issue further. He would only tolerate so much; he had his orders-- regardless of how desperate the pleading or how guilty his conscience made him feel.

He was unable to put the matter to rest entirely, however. Returning home that evening he found Constance, Adam, and Alice waiting for him at the door, determined to question him about the wisdom of sending a sick child on such a strenuous trip. All speaking at once, they bombarded him with their demands. Captain Martin held up his hands, signaling for calm. He invited them into the parlor where they could sit and converse privately. The conversation was not one he wanted to have in public, within earshot of anyone walking along the street.