Cherokee America, page 25
“I’d say give her some time.” Bob’s face was hidden below the brim of his hat.
Hugh looked up. A horse was giving him an eye. He felt like it was in cahoots with everybody else. He turned red in the face. He wanted to cry. Bob said something else Hugh didn’t catch. He stifled the feeling rising in his chest. He couldn’t be crying all the time. A lump stuck in his throat. A horse whinnied. Bob put a hand on his shoulder. Hugh shook his head. He couldn’t speak. Bob said, “It’s been a long day. I’m gonna get me some strawberries.” He patted Hugh’s back and walked off. Hugh laid a palm on a horse. It wasn’t his. But the horse was warm and breathing. For a moment, he rested his face against its shoulder. Then he pulled himself together and hobbled back to the twirling.
Twilight
Somewhere behind Check, Suzanne was too loudly describing a steamboat cabin with indoor plumbing. Closer by, Alabama, Marty Gulager, and Granny were chewing on the new Greek Revival–style house that Clem and Mary Rogers were building in the Cooweescoowee District. Below and in front of Check, a patchwork panorama of people were having a good time and getting on with their lives. She understood that, but resented their happiness. They seemed as removed from her as the leaves on the trees, as the stars in the sky. To keep her resentment from growing, she looked for her children. She spied Hugh first, leaning on his cane, talking to Puny. They were at a distance, side by side, looking towards the post office. Clifford was nearer, playing marbles with other children not far from the porch. Paul was asleep on Eliza Benge’s lap, and Otter . . . Otter was temporarily missing. But Check had seen him not four minutes before. She looked for Connell. Scanned the lawn, and then bored in on individual quilts. She looked at the men around the wagons. Connell wasn’t there either. She thought back. She hadn’t seen him since shortly after they’d returned from the cemetery. And Florence wasn’t with her kin on the other arm of the porch. They must be together. Check pictured them strolling by the river, finding a rock to sit on, watching the water.
She laid her head back on her rocker, closed her eyes, and thought about Andrew. She wondered if he was watching, pictured the mound of dirt in the cemetery, recalled how devoid of feeling she’d been when the casket was lowered in. That wasn’t Andrew in that box. That wasn’t possible. Andrew was . . . well . . . he was somewhere. But not back at the cemetery, in the ground. He wasn’t back at home, either. That sick, withered man hadn’t been him. Check’s thoughts drifted away from the last days of his illness to the earliest ones of their courtship. Even Andrew’s accent had infuriated her father. She recalled a rage he’d gone into over the pronunciation of a word. What was it? She and Andrew had laughed about that word many times over. It was . . . It was . . . The word wouldn’t come. And that made Check realize how exhausted she was. She closed her eyes. Within moments, her mind entered the twilight between wakefulness and sleep, where images arise and float away. She saw Andrew in a suit in her family’s parlor . . . a section of railroad track in Ohio . . . her cousin John, smiling . . . her mother’s silver-handled brush . . . an owl swooping down from a tree.
Check awoke with a start and a shiver. Twilight had come to the lawn.
A Surprise Attack
It’d been dark for a while by the time Ezell and the hands started loading baskets of food into the wagon. But the Bushyheads’ drive was torchlit for the occasion, and the horses stood patiently. Voices called out in the night, urging care on the road, cautioning each other about staying together, about keeping a lookout. Hugh walked up to Ezell. “ᏡᏡ Benge left us a ham. I can’t lift it with one hand. Will you give me some help?”
Ezell called to Lizzie, “They’s two more baskets on the front porch. I’ll be back in a spell.” To Hugh, she said, “Which one of the Benges is ᏡᏡ?”
“Martin. ᏡᏡ is Cherokee for Martin.”
“That don’t make sense.”
Hugh laughed. “I know.” He and Ezell were fond of each other. Most women were fond of Hugh. However, Ezell had wiped his butt as a baby; her weakness for him was rooted in that, not the usual reason. And in spite of the general prejudice against Negroes, Hugh could appreciate Ezell as a beautiful woman, and as a complicated one. He said, “Come with me. It’s on a hook and a rope. We can haul it together.”
They exchanged bits of gossip as they walked out of the light towards the post office. They were near that building when Hugh abruptly stopped. He said, “Wait a minute! I forgot. I’ll be right back.” He turned on his cane and limped off quite quickly.
Ezell started to yell after him. But, though it was dark, people were still calling back and forth in the distance, and she felt safe on the lawn. She sank to the grass and rested. Thankful for a moment of peace. The work of the past few days had been grueling. And she’d known Andrew Singer all of her life. She recalled him slipping her sugar cubes from his mother’s pantry. Remembered him helping her with her numbers. Recalled him dressed in a coat and tie for her wedding. She felt real grief. And she was wondering how they’d all come to such a foreign place when a hand clamped over her mouth. Another pulled her shoulders to the ground. Suddenly, a man was astride her. Her scream was muffled.
The man whispered, “Baby, don’t yell. It’s me. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”
Ezell recognized the voice and the smell. Panic left her. Puny took his hand off her mouth. But before she could speak, he kissed her. The kiss took a while. It was wet and full. And when it was over, Ezell struggled to regain her breath. When she finally spoke, she said, “You could’ve gave me some warning.”
“I know, honey. I waz afraid. I’ve missed ya so much. I’ll do anything if yer’ll take me back.” Hugh had given him those words.
And they took Ezell by surprise. She was uncertain how to respond. Puny grabbed her silence as a chance to kiss her again. He undid her scarf, grabbed her hair in both fists. He pressed his chest down even harder on hers. Spread her legs with a knee. Put a hand under her skirt. Then, kissing her all the while, he unbuttoned his trousers. Thrust into her, hard. Thrust again. Ezell’s loins loosed up. Puny knew Hugh was guarding their privacy, and Ezell’s mind sort of left her. They rocked back and forth.
Afterwards, they lay on their backs and stared at the stars. Took deep breaths and somewhat adjusted their clothes. Then Puny said, “Ya gotta let me back in my bed.”
A bright star, maybe a planet, shone directly overhead. Ezell said, “That’s gonna be kinda hard. Lizzie’s in it.”
Puny rose on his elbow. He fondled Ezell’s breast with his free hand. “Can’t ya put her somewhere?” There was a whiny tone to his voice.
“Well, I can’t put her in the bunkhouse. She can’t sleep in the big house. And she won’t sleep on the porch after a skunk got her.”
“She’s in my bed. Ya won’t throw her out? What kind of wife are ya?”
“What kind of wife am I?” Ezell scooted away. “Puny Tower, let me remind you I didn’t put the girl in yer bed.” Her voice rose. “You did that yerself.”
Puny had made a misstep. Hugh had warned him about that. And he didn’t want to lose ground he’d just recovered. He put his hand to his head and pinched his brow. “Yer right, darling. I’m sorry. I really am. We’ll think on it, and come up with an answer.”
The End of a Long Day
The hands who’d stayed behind broke down the four-poster bed and assembled it again upstairs. But, either out of deference or ineptitude, didn’t make it up. Check did that by lamplight, behind a closed door. Her hair was loosened and long over her shoulders. Across the hall, the older boys were putting the younger ones to bed. Most of their talk was muffled. But Clifford’s voice was loud enough for Check to hear: “No!” And Hugh clearly said, “Don’t be bothering Mama.”
Check climbed into bed and thought about crying. But she was too tired for that. She fell asleep like a rock thrown into water.
In the cabin, Ezell and Lizzie were still wide awake. Ezell was reinvigorated by her visit with Puny. Lizzie was too young to be out of energy. They sat in bed, talking the way women do privately. On the subject of Hank, Lizzie said, “That man’s got a butt on him!”
“Don’t I know it. Can dance, too.”
Lizzie had left with Jenny before the dancing began. But had come back while it was still going on. “Ya think Puny saw ya?”
“Know he did. And it worked.” Ezell didn’t go into detail. She was too prudish to mention marital relations. And no longer felt threatened by Lizzie or had any need to make her jealous.
Lizzie giggled. “Did ya tell Puny he waz married?”
“That subject never came up.” Ezell giggled, too.
“Ya oughta make ’im crawl. At least ’til we find the treasure.”
“He ain’t gitting back in easy. And I done told him I ain’t throwing ya to the wolves.”
“Serves him right,” Lizzie replied.
“You can say that again, girl.” Ezell pushed Lizzie’s leg with her toes.
Lizzie giggled. Then she sat up. “We’re hav’ta get us an arrowhead.”
“Cherokees haven’t used arrows fer years. Ever’body knows that ’cept you.”
“I know it! I was owned by Cherokees! But we still need an arrowhead. That’s what Jenny said.”
“Will an Osage one do?”
“I don’t know. I reckon. Didn’t think to ask that.”
“Tell me more of what she said. Ya waz mysterious when ya got back.” Ezell slid off the bed, went to the trunk, and lifted its lid.
“She said ya hang the arrowhead by a string, twirl it around in the air, and say this little saying. It’ll point the way to whatever’s lost.”
Ezell drew a ball of string from the trunk. She tossed it to Lizzie. Then she held up an arrowhead between her thumb and forefinger. “Puny found this when he dug the garden.”
“Wow!” Lizzie dropped the ball, jumped off the bed, and took the arrowhead to the lamp. “This’ll be perfect.”
Ezell picked up the ball and sat down in her rocker. She plucked her scissors from her sewing basket and cut a length of twine. She asked for the arrowhead back and wrapped the string around it at the notches. She held it by the string, jiggled it a little, and made it swing. Lizzie reached for it and moved to the other rocker. She swung it, too. They talked about Puny, and about finding the gold. They talked about the Creek medicine man making the smell of sickness go. In that single act, Fox had converted them to Indian magic.
The Problems of Orphans
Four days after the funeral, Sanders returned to the bottoms. George was still hanging around. He and Coop fished at the ferry in the afternoon. It being Saturday, they brought Bert and Ame back with them to the Corderys’. The group, including Nannie and Jenny, spent the evening around the fire. As they picked their teeth with fish bones, they relived Andrew’s death, funeral, and reception for Sanders’ benefit. And for their own enjoyment. Each offered an exaggerated perspective on everybody’s actions and antics—except their own. They speculated on where Connell Singer spent the afternoon of his father’s burial. And commented extensively on Ezell, the strawberry-wagon driver, and Puny. Eventually, Jenny said, “Ezell and Lizzie is looking fer gold.” She was sitting rather primly on a log.
George said, “Ain’t we all.”
Coop said, “They won’t find it.”
Ame asked, “There’s gold ’round here?”
George started talking big about stashes. Jenny glanced at Bert. She was waiting for him to ask George a question. He didn’t. So she said, “I told Ezell and Lizzie how to find the stash with the arrowhead trick.”
Nannie said, “That don’t work.”
“It worked fer finding my tooth!”
“Your tooth warn’t lost. It waz over there on the ground.” Coop jerked his chin.
“Well, I didn’t know where it waz. And the arrowhead pointed the direction.”
“Ya wouldn’t have found it if ya hadn’t stepped on it.” Coop snickered.
Jenny threw a fish head at her brother. It bounced off his shoulder. He threw it back at her. Then he threw another that she quickly returned. Their tossing and teasing went on until Sanders said, “I’m gonna call Judge Parker down on ya both.”
Bert had been waiting to talk like a man on a serious subject. The new judge fit that ticket. He said, “Does anybody know anything about him?”
“Hates Indians,” George said.
“How ya know that?”
“Wants to make Indian Territory into a state. That’s the talk at the inn.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Bert asked.
George looked up into the sky and didn’t reply. Most everybody else studied the fire. Bert waited. A pop came out of the flames. He looked at Ame. Ame shrugged. None of the Indians changed expression. Finally, Bert said, “I guess I said sompthing wrong.”
Sanders reached for a stick. He scratched his back with it. “Not many people ’round here trusts the United States government. Seems to be made up of thieves.” He tapped the stick on the ground. Glanced at Bert out of the sides of his eyes. The boy was a little crestfallen. Sanders added, “Course, ever’body’s got their own take on that. I actually got a first cousin named after that Jackson son of a bitch.”
George said, “You ain’t telling the truth.”
Sanders said, “Ask Bell. His brother.”
Bert wanted to recoup his position. “The night Mr. Singer died, Sheriff Rogers told me he thought me and Ame might be kin to some Indians ’round here. Maybe even him. According to our mother, we’ve got Rogers kin up thaterway.” He nodded north.
Coop said, “Everybody’s got Rogers kin. Yer probably jist dirty.”
George said, “Hold yer arms up, we’ll see.”
Bert said, “I ain’t any dirtier than you.” But raised both his arms.
All the Indians except Jenny broke out laughing. She said, “Not like yer giving up!”
Bert lowered his arms fast. Brushed the hair off his face in a jerky motion.
Coop said, “Ya gotta take yer shirt off.” He giggled.
Bert was doubly embarrassed. And he wasn’t used to Indian teasing. Or had any idea why George had told him to raise his arms. Mortification ran up his throat like a hot fire. It propelled him into a standing position. He said, “Let’s go, Ame.” He snatched his snake stick and rifle. He walked off fast. Left Ame sitting.
The group chewed on his departure, but not for long. They hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings. They told Ame to tell him they were playing. Trying to see if his armpits were as hairy as whites’. They sent him to catch up with his brother.
The next morning, Sanders woke, stretched, and went off to the milking lot to relieve himself. While he was there, he petted the new calf and dodged a head butt by the cow. When he came back to the square, Nannie poured him a cup of ground okra and coffee. She told him Jenny had left to bathe as soon as the morning turned gray. She’d been broody. Said she wouldn’t be back for most of the day. Sanders said, “Ever’body’s milk’s clabbered this morning.”
Nannie nodded towards Coop and George, asleep on a tick. “Not ever’body. Some folks is dead.”
“How ’bout some side meat?” Sanders picked Joe up and set him on the back of his neck. The baby played with his hair.
Nannie said, “How’s Nannie-Berry?” She was his other wife.
“Clabbered, too. Mad at Jay.”
“He’s a handful.” Nannie threw a piece of meat into a skillet.
“Yep. Boy’s gonna break his neck trying to break horses. His daddy could do anything with a horse. Don’t think Jay takes after the Berryhills. He ain’t got the touch.”
“At least he’s got an interest.” Nannie glanced towards the tick.
“They’s interested in sleeping.”
Nannie shoved the side meat with a metal fork. “Jenny’s sweet on that boy.”
“I figured.” Sanders lifted Joe off his shoulders. Set him on the ground on his feet.
“He’s sweet on her, too.”
“How ya know?”
“Bolted.”
Sanders took two or three sips of coffee. Then he said, “Them boys is probably my aunt Peggy and uncle Alex’s great-grandchil’run.”
“Did Bell tell ’em that?”
“Don’t know exactly what he told them. But he figured it out. Good friends with their granddaddy when they waz boys. ’Members their mama being born. She were named after Aunt Peggy. She sent ’em here. That Rogers kin he were talking about, that’d be Aunt Lucy’s brood. I remember their grandfather myself. Ellis were his name. We rested with all them fer a couple years at the end of the Trail. They waz already out here.”
Nannie turned her frying meat. “Ain’t ya got Sanders kin over in Tahlequah?”
“Yeah. They lived ’round here ’fore the War.”
Nannie lifted the meat out of the skillet. She put it in a gourd with some cornbread and handed it to Sanders. She thought about her brother off somewhere. Tried to picture his face. It came up, looking like it did when he was a child. She couldn’t pull up his looks as an adult. She said, “We better take ’em in.”
Sanders chewed. He and Nannie mostly saw eye to eye. There was no need to say he agreed.
Nannie broke some eggs over the skillet. They watched the boys sleep and Joe totter around. After they finished eating, Nannie said, “You wanta go over and ask ’em boys to come back? Or ya want me to do it?”
Sanders replied, “Sounds like sompthing a woman would be particularly good at.”
Hearken, O Brown Arrowhead
The janitor-preacher had not won over Check during breakfast on the morning of Andrew’s funeral. He’d confirmed her deepest suspicions. Nevertheless, the Singers were going to church because Suzanne and Nash Taylor had invited them for dinner. Check was less interested in the hands’ souls than Andrew had been, and the men themselves were even less interested than she. Ezell begged off going, to catch up with her work, and Lizzie volunteered to stay and help. So the family rode off alone in the buggy and on horses that Sunday morning.
