begins to grow. And the more years it's nourished, the bigger it grows until a man is blinded by itâuntil he can see, hear, and feel nothing but his hatred."
Sam grunted an acknowledgment but made no comment. Silence stretched between them before Sam broke it with a seemingly idle remark. "I heard Stand Watie has asked your father to join the local chapter of the Knights of the Golden Circle."
This was another secret organization that was ostensibly proslavery. Stand Watie was the brother of the late Elias Boudinot, a signer of the so-called Phantom Treaty, just as Lije's father had been. And just as Shawano Stuart had died at assassins' hands, so had Elias Boudinot.
Lije felt this news travel through him like a chill down his spine. Like the American states, the Cherokee Nation was slowly beginning to separate into opposing camps with slavery as their banner. But they were banding together along old lines, ones that had divided Major Ridge and his supporters of the Phantom Treaty from those loyal to principal chief John Ross, who had fought against the treaty right up to the moment of removal, that eventful day the Cherokees were forced to move westward.
A black cloud darkened the sky. In the distance thunder rumbled. A storm was coming. Lije saw it clearly.
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4
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Springfield, Massachusetts
The First Week of September 1860
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The maple trees on the Wickham estate still wore their summer green colors, but there was a slight nip in the air that warned of autumn's approach. As the carriage swung onto the long drive that led to the brick manor house, Susannah sat forward in eager anticipation of greeting her friend Diane Parmelee once again.
She and Diane had known one another for as long as Susannah could remember. As a child, she had looked on Diane Parmelee as her best friend. She still did, even though they hadn't actually seen each other in five years.
Smiling, Susannah thought back to the girl she had known at Fort Gibson. Beautiful Diane with her honey gold hair, china blue eyes and a face that could only be described as exquisite was petite and, in short, everything that Susannah was not. Yet she had adored Diane, and the two had seized every opportunity to see each other . . . until that day outside the sutler's store at the fort.
The memory of that incident still sprang vividly into her mind. It stunned her now as it had done so long ago. . . .
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Susannah heard a young girl's laugh, rising like the notes of the musical scale. Glancing up from the marbles game in progress, she saw her nine-year-old friend Diane walking toward the sutler's store, holding her father's hand. Susannah's joy was instant.
From the moment Susannah had learned they were going to Fort Gibson, she had hoped and hoped she would get to see Diane Parmelee. Most times she did. The sutler's store was close to the officers' quarters where Diane lived. If the weather was nice, she could usually find Diane playing outside. Excitedly, Susannah tapped Lije on the shoulder. "Look. Here comes Diane."
"I see her," he said without looking up, the shooter marble resting in the crook of his forefinger, his thumb cocked behind it as he took aim at one of Susannah's marbles.
"How could you? You haven't even looked."
"I saw her when she came around the corner with Captain Parmelee. I always see things before you do." He let the shooter fly. It cracked against her marble, knocking it out of the circle.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
He shrugged. "That was your best green marble. Now it's mine."
Susannah ignored the baiting gleam in his eye. The loss of her favorite marble suddenly didn't seem important, not with Diane approaching. Hurriedly, Susannah straightened from her crouched position and waved to her friend. Diane waved back and said something to her father. He smiled and nodded, releasing her hand to let her run ahead.
As the girl drew closer, Susannah experienced a small twinge of envy. Diane was the
Sam grunted an acknowledgment but made no comment. Silence stretched between them before Sam broke it with a seemingly idle remark. "I heard Stand Watie has asked your father to join the local chapter of the Knights of the Golden Circle."
This was another secret organization that was ostensibly proslavery. Stand Watie was the brother of the late Elias Boudinot, a signer of the so-called Phantom Treaty, just as Lije's father had been. And just as Shawano Stuart had died at assassins' hands, so had Elias Boudinot.
Lije felt this news travel through him like a chill down his spine. Like the American states, the Cherokee Nation was slowly beginning to separate into opposing camps with slavery as their banner. But they were banding together along old lines, ones that had divided Major Ridge and his supporters of the Phantom Treaty from those loyal to principal chief John Ross, who had fought against the treaty right up to the moment of removal, that eventful day the Cherokees were forced to move westward.
A black cloud darkened the sky. In the distance thunder rumbled. A storm was coming. Lije saw it clearly.
Â
Â
Â
4
Â
Â
Springfield, Massachusetts
The First Week of September 1860
Â
The maple trees on the Wickham estate still wore their summer green colors, but there was a slight nip in the air that warned of autumn's approach. As the carriage swung onto the long drive that led to the brick manor house, Susannah sat forward in eager anticipation of greeting her friend Diane Parmelee once again.
She and Diane had known one another for as long as Susannah could remember. As a child, she had looked on Diane Parmelee as her best friend. She still did, even though they hadn't actually seen each other in five years.
Smiling, Susannah thought back to the girl she had known at Fort Gibson. Beautiful Diane with her honey gold hair, china blue eyes and a face that could only be described as exquisite was petite and, in short, everything that Susannah was not. Yet she had adored Diane, and the two had seized every opportunity to see each other . . . until that day outside the sutler's store at the fort.
The memory of that incident still sprang vividly into her mind. It stunned her now as it had done so long ago. . . .
Â
Susannah heard a young girl's laugh, rising like the notes of the musical scale. Glancing up from the marbles game in progress, she saw her nine-year-old friend Diane walking toward the sutler's store, holding her father's hand. Susannah's joy was instant.
From the moment Susannah had learned they were going to Fort Gibson, she had hoped and hoped she would get to see Diane Parmelee. Most times she did. The sutler's store was close to the officers' quarters where Diane lived. If the weather was nice, she could usually find Diane playing outside. Excitedly, Susannah tapped Lije on the shoulder. "Look. Here comes Diane."
"I see her," he said without looking up, the shooter marble resting in the crook of his forefinger, his thumb cocked behind it as he took aim at one of Susannah's marbles.
"How could you? You haven't even looked."
"I saw her when she came around the corner with Captain Parmelee. I always see things before you do." He let the shooter fly. It cracked against her marble, knocking it out of the circle.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
He shrugged. "That was your best green marble. Now it's mine."
Susannah ignored the baiting gleam in his eye. The loss of her favorite marble suddenly didn't seem important, not with Diane approaching. Hurriedly, Susannah straightened from her crouched position and waved to her friend. Diane waved back and said something to her father. He smiled and nodded, releasing her hand to let her run ahead.
As the girl drew closer, Susannah experienced a small twinge of envy. Diane was the
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