Journey Home Chapter Twenty-three

Georgia December 1838

             Mingo shivered and drew the neck of his coat up tightly about his throat.  Before he had been aware of it, the fire had gone out and his home had grown chill.  After Copperhead and the young men departed he had taken to gazing into the fire, overcome with memories of that fearsome day so many years before.  What he and Daniel had gone to Kentucky to prevent had seemed, at that moment as the United States army appeared, completely inescapable.  As he and Bekah and Curious Dent approached Hawk’s camp, they had encountered Daniel and Israel.  The pair had just returned from escorting the army to the Indian camp.  Now, his old friend and his son intended to do the same for them.  Mingo trembled now, nearly twenty years later, at the thought of it.  Had he known the full extent of what was to come once the danger had passed, his courage to continue might have failed him.

            He had been an old man even then.

            Rising from his chair, Mingo crossed to the window and looked out.  It was well past night but not quite morning.  His people, who were to begin their long walk west that day – overwrought and exhausted – had given in to sleep at last.  The Cherokee huddled together wherever they could, seeking comfort in another’s touch and in the heat of their fellow’s bodies.  There would be many nights such as this on the trail to their new home.  Many thousands would make the journey.  Many thousands would not reach its end.

            An aching in his bones told Mingo he would be one of them.

            “Father?” Danny’s light voice called out as he opened the door and stepped into the cabin.

            The shadows must have hidden him.  Mingo stepped into the moonlight streaming through the window.  “You should be asleep.”

            “I could say that of you as well.”  Danny shivered as he crossed to stand beside him.  “You have let your fire go out.  It is freezing in here.  I’ll get it going again.” 

            Mingo caught his arm and stopped him.  “There will be little fire on the road to Oklahoma.  I must get used to its absence.”

            Danny took his hand and held it.  “I have come again, to beg you not to go.”

            Mingo met his son’s gaze.  Danny was in pain – for both of them.  He touched his son’s cheek.  “You know my answer.”

            “I know it, but I do not understand it,” Danny said, pulling away.  He was angry and hurt.  “I do not understand why you prefer death to a life with us.”

            “Daniel,” Mingo said sharply.  “It is not that at all.”  His voice softening, the old man went on.  “Do you remember that night, long ago, when Kentucky was balanced on the brink of war?  The night when Robinson’s father stood as the linchpin that held fast the gate against a tide of destruction and death?”

            “I remember.  But what has that to do with – ”

            “There are things in a man’s life that he has to do, Danny, even if that choice might mean his death.  This thing, I must do.”

            His son was silent for a long time.  When Danny looked up, there were tears in his eyes.  “You do what you have to do then.  I will do the same.  I won’t be there in the morning, Father.  I will not sanction this choice.  If you mean to go, then here – tonight – this is goodbye.”

            It was a threat, and it was not without weight.  Mingo drew a deep breath and held it for several long heartbeats.  Then he nodded.  “I understand.  Know this my son, I love you.  I am proud of the man you are.  Take care of your sister and all the small ones.  Tell them I love them too.” 

Danny did not refuse his embrace, but his son was stiff in his arms.

            As he pulled out of it, Danny said, “I will tell them, but it will be all I can do not to tell them you love the Cherokee more.  Goodbye, Father.”  Tears ran down his son’s pale cheeks.  “I love you.”

            A moment later Mingo was alone.

            Returning to the window he looked out, watching his son move quickly across the courtyard.  The first doubt that he had known gnawed at him.  He had always believed his place was with his mother’s people.  Love of the Cherokee had brought him back from England – twice –  and sustained him through all his years.  The People were his life, his breath, but Danny was his son. 

            Where did his loyalties lie?

            Feeling a sudden need for understanding company, Mingo donned his great coat and, opening the door, followed his son out into the brisk December night.  He would go to see Copperhead.  Though his old friend’s situation was different –  Adam would be accompanying him and settling in a town nearby the reservation – still he knew the choice had been a hard one.  It seemed at times that their lives had been full of nothing but hard choices; like the ones that had been made in Kentucky all those years ago. 

            Like the one that caused him and Daniel Boone to part, never to meet again in this world. 

~

Kentucky, 1820 

            Mingo stood with his son on one side and Curious Dent on the other, watching the drama unfold.  He was unable at the moment to be anything other than a spectator.  Backing him were Israel and his family, as well as the Cherokee loyal to Runs Deep including Waiting Moon.  Before him was Daniel Boone, and beyond his old friend a sea of men he called brother – even if at the moment they thought of him as the enemy.  On the dais above them stood Hawk, his hands raised in supplication.  At the renegade’s feet lay Runs Deep’s silent form. 

Surrounding them all, nearly three hundred strong, was the army of the United States.

            Danny’s voice was hushed when he spoke.  “Do you think the natives will listen to John Johnston?”

            “They must,” Mingo answered.  “For their own sake, they must.  But no matter what these men do, this is the beginning of the end for the People.  If they fight, they die.  If they surrender…their spirit will be broken beyond repair.”

            “Father.  Listen!  Johnston is speaking again.”

            The Indian agent was halfway up the stair.  John Johnston raised one arm and pointed at Hawk.  “This man does not care about you or your families.  He would glory in your deaths, down to the last man!  Hawk will order you to die on the field while he remains here, above, in safety.  This winter he will feast, while those who mourn you die.”

            Murmurs and angry muttering rippled through the crowd as if the agent’s  words were pebbles tossed into still water.  Mingo searched the men’s faces.  Some were angry, but most were distressed and sad. 

            “He lies!” Hawk shouted, seeking to turn the tide back toward him.  “I am one of you.  You are my people!  Together…together we will win!”

            “Johnston has him on the defensive,” Danny said softly.

            “Yes.  And John has planted doubts.  Notice how many have lowered their weapons.”  Mingo gripped his son’s arm.  “They are thinking, Danny, and thinking hard.”

            The Indian agent spun on his heel to look up at Hawk.  “Prove it.  Come down among your men.  Stand with them as they face the soldiers who hold their lives in their hands.”

            John Johnston had  raised his voice, but only enough to be heard.  There was about the man an unearthly calm, as if he feared nothing and no one; as if he knew his cause was just and that Heaven would preserve him until it was done.  There was nothing about the Indian agent that spoke of the theatrical, of a false face worn to fool.  John Johnston was an honest man and he spoke from the heart.

            Something the People could not help but recognize.

            Hawk hesitated.  Mingo wondered why.  He didn’t think the renegade was afraid.  Perhaps it was nothing more than what Mingo had learned during his time among the actors of Geoffrey Stanbury’s troupe.  It was all about the staging.  At the moment Hawk, high above his men, was in the position of power.  By coming down, by standing on the ground side by side with John Johnston, they would become equals.

            As Hawk hesitated, Mingo shifted to get a better view of what came next.  In that instant Danny caught his arm and pointed, drawing his attention in a different direction.  It took him a moment, but then he saw him.  It was Copperhead’s son, Adam, moving toward the area beside the rocky stair.  Once there Adam paused and looked up, seeking his wounded brother.

            “Someone should help him,” Danny said.

            “My place is here with Daniel.  We must see to it that Hawk is taken and secured.  I cannot go with you.”

            “We’ll go,” Israel Boone said.  Bekah and his wife were at his side.  “Dent will stay with you, Mingo, and Pa.  Once Adam and Toby are safe, we’ll leave them with Sunalei, and Bekah and I will return.”

            “I’ll be back too unless Adam needs me,” Danny said. “Toby looks to be hurt badly.  Adam said earlier once he got him, he would take his brother to the inn.”

            Mingo turned to Bekah who had been standing silently by.  “How are you?” he asked.              She said nothing, but on impulse took his hand and then rose up and kissed him on the cheek.

            “Criminetly!” Israel exclaimed.  Then he grinned.  “Almost four-score and Mingo’s still makin’ them swoon.”

             Danny had been watching the crowd.  He turned to Israel and said, “Hawk’s down. Let’s get going.”

            “Take care, son,” Mingo told him.  “All of you take care.  Bring them both safely home.”

            Israel nodded and then, along with the others, disappeared into the trees that ringed the outcropping of rock.

            Daniel Boone came almost immediately to his side.  “Those young’uns going for Adam and his brother?”

            “Yes,” Mingo answered, turning toward him. 

            “I think its time, then, for you and me to end this here mission that brought us to Kentuck, don’t you?”

            “Indeed.”  Mingo laid a hand on his old friend’s shoulder.  “It is time Hawk is apprehended and put where he can never harm anyone again.” 

~

           
            Adam Fox hesitated, listening as the Indian agent’s words rang out through the clear, crisp night, calling for cooperation; for the natives to drop their weapons and return to their homes.  He was near the stair that led to the platform that would take him to his brother.  There was no guard that he could see.  Whoever had been stationed there had apparently left their post to join in the debate.  Moving past the stair Adam sought another way up.  He found a series of hand and footholds cut into the rock wall.  They would gain him access – if he didn’t lose his grip on the way up and plummet to his death.  Twenty years in the legal profession had done little to hone his wilderness skills. 

As he reached for the first one, a rueful smile twisted Adam’s lips.  Forty feet of brown rock surely qualified as a giant worth tilting at!

            Careful lest he slip, Adam made his way up the sheer rock face.  As he approached the platform, he heard Hawk’s voice ringing out, urging his men to fight.  After pulling himself up and onto the stone stage, Adam slipped into the shadows where he waited and assessed the situation.  Toby was there.  His brother had struggled into a seated position, but his breathing was labored and he was obviously unable to move under his own power.  Toby’s linen shirt was soaked with blood and his dark skin shone with sweat and fever.  He was, maybe, three yards away from where Hawk stood.  Adam looked and noted that the renegade still wore his weapons’ belt.  If Hawk realized someone was trying to take his prize, it would only take him a few seconds to throw a tomahawk and….  No.  Adam’s fingers curled into fists.  No.  His brother was not going to die. 

He wasn’t going to let him.

            Moving with caution, Adam closed the gap between him and the two men.  He paused again, thinking hard, but could come up with no viable solution.  Just as he was about to do something rash – like dash out onto the stage and grab his brother – Hawk answered John Johnston’s challenge to leave his lofty perch.  Proud and arrogant, the Wyandot renegade descended the stair to walk among mortals.

            Adam blew out a sigh of relief.  He waited as Hawk completed his descent, leaving him alone with his wounded brother on the platform.  Toby’s form was partially eclipsed in shadow.  If he was fortunate, everyone’s attention would be riveted below and no one would notice as he moved to his brother’s side and bore Toby away.  Crossing the small space quickly, Adam knelt and touched his brother’s shoulder.

            “Toby?”

            For a moment Toby didn’t move; then he lifted his head and looked up.  His little brother had always been the one who bore the most resemblance to their father.  For a second, looking at his battered face and form, Adam was driven back through time to that  night that had changed them all – the night when their father had been nearly beaten to death by a mob of white men.  Only this time, the villains were native.

            Life was madness indeed.

            “Toby, can you stand?  I need to get you out of here.”

            “Adohi…how?”

            Adam grinned.  “Cussedness?”

            Toby tried to push him off, though the attempt was feeble.  “Get out…of here.  I didn’t…set you free to have…you die saving me.”

            “Neither of us is going to die.  Don’t you know?  You did it.  The army has arrived.”

            His brother’s eyes were unfocused, and partially hidden behind great hanks of sweat and blood-soaked hair.  As Adam watched, hope dawned in them.

            “Hawk?” Toby asked.

            “Free.  But it is only a matter of time.”

            His brother nodded.  Then he shuddered and started to fall.

            Adam caught him by the shoulders.  “Toby.  Get up!”

            “Leave me….  They will still want me dead.  I betrayed them.  It’s too dangerous….”

            “No.”  Adam forced his brother to meet his eyes.  “Either you get up, or I sit here beside you.  If you die, I will die too.”  When Toby said nothing, he added softly, “Sunalei is here with her husband and her child.  She wants to see you.”

            Below them the voice of the crowd rose in anger.  Adam stood and took a moment to look.  Hawk was in the midst of the warriors he had called together, ironically being protected by his enemies.  John Johnston, Daniel Boone, Curious Dent and Mingo were guarding him.  They had taken places at four points around him and kept watch as the army of the United States moved through the crowd, disarming the natives and breaking them up into smaller groups they could control.

            It was over.

            “Toby, come on….” Adam pleaded.

            “Tobias, di-na-da-nv-tli…” a new voice said.

            Adam knew the sound of it.  It was their sister, Sunalei.  She had climbed to the platform and was walking toward them with her arms open wide. 

            Her presence seemed to break the spell of despair the beating he had taken at the hands of Hawk’s men had woven in their brother.  Adam felt Toby lean into his strength.  He helped him to stand and then stepped away as Sunalei took their little brother in her arms. 

Several minutes later, with their wounded sibling between them, the children of Copperhead descended the rocky stair. 

~

            Israel waited in the darkness behind the outcropping with his daughter, Bekah.  As the minutes passed with no sign of Adam or his wife, he began to grow uneasy.  Then Danny – who had gone to the front to see what was happening – returned to tell them that Hawk was taken and the army was on the move subduing the men who followed him.  To Israel’s relief, Danny also told them that Adam and Sunalei were slowly descending the stair with their brother between them.  Mingo’s son grinned and then said he was going to see if he could requisition a wagon from the army to bear Tobias Fox to the Wild Wood Inn. 

            As Danny disappeared, and while they waited for his wife and her brothers to appear, Israel turned to his daughter.  Bekah had shed her brother’s clothes and seemed, for the first time in years, to be at peace with who and what she was. 

            “Mingo should have been a healer,” Israel said softly.  “He’s worked magic with you.”

            “No magic, Pa.  He’s just….  Well….”

            “Easier to talk to than your Ma or me.”

            She looked pained.

            Israel laughed.  “No need to worry, Bekah.  When I couldn’t talk to my parents, Mingo was always there.  There’s just somethin’ special about him.”

            She nodded.  After taking a deep breath, his daughter straightened her spine and lifted her chin so she met his gaze head on.  “Squire died because of me.  Because I was a fool and thought a white boy could love me.  He saved me, and I killed my brother.”

            For a moment he said nothing.  He had always suspected that somehow his daughter blamed herself for her brother’s death.  It wasn’t all that surprising that love would be mixed up in something that had brought so much pain.  “Was your finger on the trigger?” Israel asked at last.

            “No.  But….”

            “Did your brother choose to go with you?”

            “Yes.  But….”

            “Bekah,” he said, taking her hand, “we all make choices.  Some of them are good.  Many are bad.  Both you and Squire made some bad ones that day.  But if he chose to save your life, then that was his choice.  You need to honor it.  By denyin’ what happened, you dishonor your brother’s memory.”

            She lowered her head.  “I know that now.  I’m sorry.”

            Israel caught her chin with his fingers and raised her head.  “I’m glad you told me.  Now Squire can truly be at peace.”

            His daughter stared at him for a moment, and then rushed into his arms.  “Pa, I love you.”       

            As he kissed her pale blond head, he whispered, “I love you too.”

            “Now ain’t that a sight?  You’d think that heathens had the same feelings as white folk, wouldn’t you?” a man snarled.  The sound of his voice was accompanied by the cocking of several triggers.  “Oh, I forgot this ain’t no Injun.  Just an Injun lover.”

            His arm still protectively wrapped around his child, Israel pivoted toward the voice and the man.  In the time he and Bekah had been talking, he had grown careless.  They were surrounded by a group of ten or twelve men.

            And Simon Keller was at their head.