She kept staring at him and said in a distracted tone, “He certainly confirmed my doubts about marriage in general and marrying white men in particular.”
“But he was pretty good-lookin’, huh?”
Her eyes filled with memories, but she frowned. “He was blond and rather pink. He didn’t go out in the sun much. I saw his bare arms once and they hardly had any color at all. Or much hair.” She shrugged lightly. “He was very fashionable.”
Justis glanced down at himself. “I’m right big and furry,” he admitted, as much to himself as to her. “And I’ve been out in the sun until I look like old leather. Plus I’ve got all sorts of scars.”
She nodded, then looked away. He figured that she couldn’t stand the brutish sight any longer. “You can put your shirt back on, sir. And I’ll slip into my dress.”
Sir. So the intimacy was over. Frowning, he got up and went to the washstand, turning his back to her so that she’d have privacy. “I’ll go on downstairs and have a word with Mrs. Albert.”
“No!” she cried.
Justis pivoted. She was stepping into her dress. Now she halted, bent halfway over, to gaze at him. “Wait for me,” she told him. “If you go alone, you might get into trouble on my account. I wouldn’t want you to break any heads and land in jail. Or to get your hard head broken.”
Her concern made him smile. He stared wistfully at the soft, luscious tops of her breasts, which in her current position bulged over the neck of her undershirt. “I wish I’d talked less and stroked more a little while ago. Fifty dollars would have been a bargain just to look at you.”
She almost smiled back—but hurriedly pulled her dress up. “If I hadn’t admitted the truth to you, would you have gone through with our, umm, business together?”
“Would you have wanted me to?”
For a long moment they simply looked at each other. Justis smiled wider as he saw the unmistakable blush rising in her face. At least there was one thing she’d never deny.
“I think we’d be content together in some ways,” he told her.
She looked flustered but said softly, “I think you’re right.”
He set his hat on his head and tugged the floppy brim over his eyes at a jaunty angle.
CHAPTER 6
OVER the next few days Katherine went back to work at the store, though it was just a way to occupy her time now that Justis had agreed to her independence. She knew he’d give her a fair share of gold as soon as her future was decided, but that wouldn’t happen until they heard the governor’s decision.
Justis hadn’t come to see her since the escapade at Mrs. Albert’s. He had learned the recklessness of his involvement, Katherine thought, and now wanted to retreat. Her relief was overshadowed by a sorrow she couldn’t deny.
What a blustery scoundrel he was, so full of himself and so proud. Yet he wasn’t a vain man; he was shrewd about his shortcomings, even amused by them. He was brutal to his enemies but also to himself, because he never expected mercy. Yet he was capable of offering it, of treating anyone in need with extraordinary compassion. She no longer doubted that he had the heart and soul of a true chevalier, no matter how crudely he expressed that nobility at times.
She would never forget the night at Mrs. Albert’s. He’d threatened to run the madam out of town for her scheming, and Mrs. Albert had been reduced to tears and begging, much to Katherine’s unholy delight. But she hadn’t wanted him to make the threat good, and to her surprise, he had agreed.
“If I run her off, her girls will suffer for it,” he had explained afterward.
“You did the right thing by her, and by me,” she’d assured him. “I’ve got my revenge. I escaped that miserable place. She never will.”
Justis had gazed at her as if she were something rare. “For a woman, you sure see things in a practical way.”
“For a man,” she had replied dryly, “you certainly have a tender heart.”
Being accused of tenderheartedness apparently had perturbed him, because when he brought her back to the hotel he said good night rather abruptly, and left. She told Sam and Rebecca what had happened, leaving out the most lurid parts, and they angrily vowed that the days of Gold Ridge’s brothels were numbered.
Now, after a little time to think about it, Katherine saw the brothel problem from a different perspective. The girls at Mrs. Albert’s were treated little better than property. Most were in poor health, suffering from all sorts of maladies.
One evening Katherine formed a secret plan. If she weren’t forced to leave Gold Ridge, she would offer her doctoring skills to the town’s prostitutes, though on her own terms, not Mrs. Albert’s. She would never forget how the girls had showered her with gratitude when she delivered their friend’s babe. They knew the value of compassion, even the compassion offered by someone unlike themselves.
So she’d be their doctor—if she didn’t have to leave with the other Cherokees. As a May twilight settled around the hotel and the boarders finished supper, she walked to the front veranda alone.
From the trees beyond the hotel a whippoorwill sang its heartrending call. Katherine’s throat tightened. She lived with a constant heaviness inside her, a despair that colored everything she said and did. Her chest ached with bittersweet sorrow—a sense of homesickness even though she was home. The magenta shadows that were fading over the forests and distant mountains seemed like shadows of doom.
She hugged herself and leaned against one of the veranda’s slender wooden columns. When customers came into the store they stared at her with a mixture of fear and curiosity, and some muttered that it would be bad to have a Cherokee right in their midst when the uprising began. A sizable number of townspeople were certain that the Indians planned to wage war rather than be removed.
Katherine shook her head wearily. Her people had given up war many years earlier and settled, more or less happily, into a life of hunting and farming. There were no fierce, battle-hardened warriors left, and no war chiefs. Her parents had spoken of knowing such men—and women, for in the old days Cherokee women had held great power in war as well as in peace—but now even the most traditional Cherokees embraced peace.
Yes, they would go without resisting, because they’d become civilized. Katherine trembled with disgust. This was the value of civilization, to suffer betrayal despite all efforts to live peacefully, because the missionaries had said that the old ways were sinful.
What would her future be if she were allowed to stay in Gold Ridge? A small portion of the townspeople would undoubtedly befriend her, but the rest would always consider her inferior, someone to be pitied or distrusted. Even with all her gold she wouldn’t be a citizen; she’d have no legal defense if she were cheated or robbed. She would never be able to buy property, not even the Blue Song property.
She slipped her fingers across the back of her neck and rubbed muscles that throbbed from too much anxiety and despair. No one knew the depth of her anguish—not even Justis. Especially not him. He must never know how much she needed his strength.
She went to the veranda’s steps and sank down, glad that the darkness hid her distress. Justis. Living in Gold Ridge would mean forever fighting the emotions he stirred inside her. It would also mean that one day she’d see him marry—for love, not duty—one of his own people.
Katherine gazed sadly into the beautiful forest that lay just beyond Gold Ridge’s sprawling growth. She should simply disappear into the ancient woodland that had held no fear for her as a child. She should forget her promise to Justis and vanish into the night.
Shakily she rose to her feet, caught in the spell of memories, tormented by visions of the future. She slipped one foot off the steps, her breath short with indecision, her hands clenched.
“Katie.”
She grasped the wooden railing beside the steps and stared into the darkness. Justis climbed the slight rise of the yard, his long strides carrying him silently up the trail from the square. He stopped a few feet away from her in a faint
patch of light from the parlor window. His shadowed mystery, the handsomeness of his rugged face and tall, work-honed body, made her touch her throat lightly in awe.
He was dressed in his usual work trousers and a loose white shirt, and the gold nugget over his heart reflected the lamplight like a beacon. Transfixed, Katherine realized that she’d dropped her hand to her own chest.
“How are you?” he asked, and pulled his hat off belatedly.
“Startled.” She shook the odd mood away and managed a strained laugh. “You walk more quietly than any white man I’ve ever known.”
“You looked like you were in a trance.”
“No. Just … thinking.”
“I brought you something.” He stepped up to her and held out a letter. “I’d like you to carry this whenever you go out of the hotel. It’s just something I wrote. It says that you’re in my care. In case anyone wants to know why you’re not penned up with the other Cherokees.”
He paused, then added gently, “The army finished buildin’ the stockade today. Tomorrow the patrols and state militia start roundin’ up your people. They’ll go into the hills and find all the families who hid out. I reckon they’ll bring in four, maybe five hundred folks over the next few days.”
“Will you take me to see them at the stockade?”
He inhaled harshly. “Katie, it’d only make you feel bad. The place—I went to look at it today. It’s just a big pen in the middle of a field. No shade, and the closest water is a good quarter mile off. I wouldn’t shut an animal in it, much less humankind.”
She looked up at him desperately. “How long will the army keep them there?”
“I don’t know. At least the government’s brought in plenty of supplies. Blankets, flour—”
“People won’t take those things! They’ll have too much pride! And the flour—Cherokee women cook with cornmeal. They don’t know how to use anything else!”
He grasped her arms and stroked them soothingly. “I’ll talk to Sam. We’ll send food from the store.”
“That’s how I want my share of gold used. I’ll buy supplies from you.”
“All right, gal, all right.”
“And I want to visit the stockade.”
“Dammit, Katie, no.”
“You forbid it? Are you forgetting that I’m your guest, not your servant?”
He let go of her and stepped back. “No, I hadn’t forgot. But I don’t want you near that damned stockade.”
“If you won’t take me, I’ll find someone else.”
“I’ll thrash the skin off any man who takes you there without my permission.”
She cried out in frustration. “Nothing has changed between us. I am a-tsi-na-Ha-i. A slave! You make me dread the sight of you.”
His chin rose slowly. “If you crave to see misery,” he said between gritted teeth, “I’ll be glad to take you to the stockade. I’ll come for you at the store tomorrow afternoon.”
He turned without another word and disappeared into the night.
THE SUN WAS too hot for late May, and Katherine’s head was damp under her black bonnet. Red dust swirled under the feet of the buggy horse, and even the saw grass looked thirsty in the fields on either side of the road.
Coming up on the left was the stockade, a large square structure built of logs. It had a guardhouse at the top of each corner, and catwalks along the walls. She was close enough to hear the sentries swearing about the heat.
Beside her, Justis pushed his hat back, drew a handkerchief across his forehead, then slapped the buggy reins lightly. “We’re goin’ there.” He pointed as he swung the horse into a pine thicket off the road. “You’ll have a good view, but the trees will hide you. Keep that bonnet on.”
Those were the first words he’d spoken to her since he’d come for her at the store. There were stern grooves on either side of his mustache, and his eyes glinted with alertness. Lying on the floor of the buggy was a loaded rifle.
“You have to promise me something, sir.” With that formal prelude she laid a hand on his arm. Through the light cotton of his shirt she felt corded muscles flex at her touch.
“I’m not much good at promises today,” he said grimly.
“If any of the soldiers notice me—if any of them come over here and see that I’m a Cherokee, and tell me to go to the stockade—you must promise me that you won’t try to stop them.”
He pulled the horse to a halt, then dropped the buggy reins and climbed down, his face turned so that she couldn’t read his expression. The determined set of his big shoulders worried her. “Do you want me to let them put you in that hell trap?” he demanded, gesturing toward the stockade.
“No, but I don’t want you killed or thrown in jail because you fought them.”
He swung about. His gaze searched her face until she looked away. The anger slipped from his tone. “I’ll be on my best behavior,” he said gravely.
“Such vague reassurance.” She gave him a solemn look.
“After the governor sends your exemption, I won’t worry so much.”
She nodded, but she knew as well as he that there was no guarantee she’d win the governor’s support. “If the worst happens,” she said as calmly as she could, “I’ll survive. You certainly know how ornery I am. I’ll be all right in the stockade.”
He shook his head slowly, his eyes cold. “I’ll never let them keep you there. Or send you west. I promised your pa I’d take care of you.”
Duty, she thought sadly. “Papa wouldn’t expect you to do more than you already have.”
“He wouldn’t want you left in that pen with strangers.”
“They won’t be strangers. I’d be safe with them.”
“No Cherokee man ever raped a Cherokee woman?” he asked bluntly. “No Cherokee ever stole food or water from another?”
“Not very often.”
He shook his head. “Your people have new vices now. Drinkin’ is one of ’em. Rape and thievin’ go hand in hand with the liquor. Don’t count on bein safe among your own kind.”
They fell silent, watching the activity around the stockade. The troops had set up rows of canvas tents outside the structure. Those who hadn’t gone on patrol were bustling about, exercising their horses, unloading wagons full of supplies, and staring fitfully down the road as if expecting Cherokees at any moment.
Townspeople began to arrive, some walking, some in wagons or on horseback, and soon it looked as if half of Gold Ridge had come to see the first group of Cherokees enter the stockade. The atmosphere was almost festive. Katherine winced at the shouts and laughter, at the frequent passing of jugs and bottles, and especially at the firearms the men waved with glee.
“I see dust down the road!” someone yelled. “They’re a-coming!”
Justis leapt into the buggy and helped Katherine to her feet. Where the road curved out of sight into the wooded hills, she could see the first mounted soldiers appear, shrouded in dust. The spectators whooped with glee, but their elation soon dimmed, and a few muttered angrily.
Katherine heard one man call to his friend, “Don’t look like they’re escortin’ dangerous Injuns to me! Lots of women and children! Ain’t quite right, seems like!”
The crowd had now formed two lines leading to the gate of the stockade. Katherine twisted toward Justis and gave him a hopeful look. “If I could only get closer … Couldn’t we stand just behind the line on this side of the gate?”
“Wait a few minutes. Let’s see how the crowd acts.”
She nodded and strained her eyes toward the approaching column. Soon it reached the outskirts of the field, and even through the dust she saw the marchers clearly.
“Where are their belongings?” she asked in bewilderment. “So many of them are empty-handed. They wouldn’t leave their homes without packing everything they could carry.”
Justis gripped her elbow tightly. “Unless they weren’t given a choice.”
She covered her mouth in horror and watched as about one hundred Ch
erokees, flanked by cavalry, walked wearily toward the stockade. Most of the men wore thigh-length hunting shirts cinched with colorful woven belts. On their heads were turbans of bright cloth, some bearing a feather or two. Their legs were covered in fringed leggings or cloth trousers tucked into knee-high moccasins.
The women were less exotic, dressed in loose print skirts and blouses, with scarves tied over their hair. Even so, there was an almost biblical look about the group—they might have been some Old Testament tribe being herded into captivity.
A cursed tribe. Children screamed. Old women buried their heads in their arms and wept as they shuffled along. Several of the men were obviously drunk, and they hurled curses at the spectators in broken English.
Those who had packs on their backs staggered under the load. An ancient man, little more than a copper-hued scarecrow, wavered under a tall bundle tied to his shoulders by coarse rope. When he fell to his knees a pair of white men stepped from the audience and helped him up.
That galvanized many of the other spectators, and a hush fell over the scene as they silently offered assistance. A burly blond man lifted two Cherokee children to his shoulders and carried them toward the stockade. Several women went to the aid of a young mother who limped along leading one child and carrying another.
Katherine realized that she was crying and that Justis had put his arm around her. “Please, can we go closer?” she asked. “The crowd’s not mean.”
“I reckon you’re right.”
When they reached the spectators Katherine ducked her head so that the bonnet would shield her face from all but the closest inspections. Everyone was looking at the marchers, anyway. Justis put a hand between her shoulder blades and guided her through the mob. They reached the front and she watched anxiously, looking for familiar faces.
Her gaze kept returning to the scarecrow. His turban was askew, half covering one eye, and his face was caked with dust. But she saw pride in the set of his mouth, and the pleated skin of his face couldn’t completely blur its past strength.