didn’t get anywhere near the applause mine did. She finished and sat down, and then Chrissy Jones went, and then Aaron Childs. When Mrs. Hanson asked for another volunteer after that, nobody moved for a minute. But then Ivy Blake stood up and walked to the front of the room like she was walking to her doom. She got behind the lectern and stared down at the papers she’d carried with her.
“This speech is called ‘The Trail of Tears,’” she said. “It’s about Cherokee Indians.”
I sat up straight.
Ivy cleared her throat. I could see her hands shake.
“Very terrible things have happened in pretty places like North Carolina,” Ivy read. “When the white people first came here, they brought diseases with them. Right away a disease called smallpox killed a lot of Indian people. It killed half the Cherokees. The Cherokees lived in what is now the states of Georgia and North and South Carolina.”
There was a long pause while Ivy swallowed hard. I stared at her hands, willing them to stop shaking, but they didn’t.
Ivy cleared her throat again. “When Andrew Jackson got elected president, things got even worse for the Cherokees. They got sent away from their land, which was the most terrible thing of all. They loved their land. They were farmers and hunters who lived in the Smoky Mountains. They had lived there for a long time, but Mr. Jackson made them leave.”
I knew that; Grammy often spoke of it. There was no love lost between her and Mr. Jackson, although he was long dead before Grammy arrived on earth.
“In the winter of 1838 the Cherokee people got rounded up and marched out of their homes and into the territory of Oklahoma. Fifteen thousand people were rounded up and marched off. Maybe more.”
As Ivy spoke, I tried to imagine all those folks walking in along line toward Oklahoma, walking a thousand miles in the winter. I wished I had been there with my rifle when the soldiers came. But probably it wouldn’t have done any good.
“They weren’t supposed to have to go. The Supreme Court said they didn’t. But President Jackson made his soldiers round them up anyway. Some people were cooking food they had to leave on the fire. They had to leave their dogs with just a pat on the head. Most of them never even had time to get a blanket or put on their shoes.”
I sat very still, listening. I reckoned those were terrible times, times that put my sassing against going to school to shame.
“A lot of the people died on the way. Thousands and thousands. They were hungry and cold and worn out, walking all that way with no warm clothes and almost nothing to eat. That’s why it’s called the Trail of Tears.”
It surprised me how quiet the room was. Ivy cleared her throat again, and even though she was doing such a good job, her voice was shaky.
“There was some good news too. A few of the Cherokees kept away from the soldiers. They stayed hidden in the hills of North Carolina. They are now called the Eastern Band of Cherokee.”
I nodded. Those were some of my people, or so it was always said in my family.
“And the people who made it to Oklahoma set themselves up as a nation again and started over. They had an alphabetthought up by a man named Sequoyah, and a constitution and a government and a newspaper and schools.”
Right after Ivy said that, she seemed to freeze, like she suddenly realized what she was doing: standing up in front of the class giving a speech. She took a deep wavering breath and said, kind of sudden, “The end.”
She’d been reading from her papers all along without ever looking up, which the computer said not to do, but it was a good speech anyway. Right after she said “The end,” she darted a look at me. Then she sat down.
When the next speech started (Randy Curtis talking about his favorite computer game, which was not interesting at all), I took the chance to pass Ivy a note. We’re not supposed to do that, but it was important. My situation was nowhere near
“This speech is called ‘The Trail of Tears,’” she said. “It’s about Cherokee Indians.”
I sat up straight.
Ivy cleared her throat. I could see her hands shake.
“Very terrible things have happened in pretty places like North Carolina,” Ivy read. “When the white people first came here, they brought diseases with them. Right away a disease called smallpox killed a lot of Indian people. It killed half the Cherokees. The Cherokees lived in what is now the states of Georgia and North and South Carolina.”
There was a long pause while Ivy swallowed hard. I stared at her hands, willing them to stop shaking, but they didn’t.
Ivy cleared her throat again. “When Andrew Jackson got elected president, things got even worse for the Cherokees. They got sent away from their land, which was the most terrible thing of all. They loved their land. They were farmers and hunters who lived in the Smoky Mountains. They had lived there for a long time, but Mr. Jackson made them leave.”
I knew that; Grammy often spoke of it. There was no love lost between her and Mr. Jackson, although he was long dead before Grammy arrived on earth.
“In the winter of 1838 the Cherokee people got rounded up and marched out of their homes and into the territory of Oklahoma. Fifteen thousand people were rounded up and marched off. Maybe more.”
As Ivy spoke, I tried to imagine all those folks walking in along line toward Oklahoma, walking a thousand miles in the winter. I wished I had been there with my rifle when the soldiers came. But probably it wouldn’t have done any good.
“They weren’t supposed to have to go. The Supreme Court said they didn’t. But President Jackson made his soldiers round them up anyway. Some people were cooking food they had to leave on the fire. They had to leave their dogs with just a pat on the head. Most of them never even had time to get a blanket or put on their shoes.”
I sat very still, listening. I reckoned those were terrible times, times that put my sassing against going to school to shame.
“A lot of the people died on the way. Thousands and thousands. They were hungry and cold and worn out, walking all that way with no warm clothes and almost nothing to eat. That’s why it’s called the Trail of Tears.”
It surprised me how quiet the room was. Ivy cleared her throat again, and even though she was doing such a good job, her voice was shaky.
“There was some good news too. A few of the Cherokees kept away from the soldiers. They stayed hidden in the hills of North Carolina. They are now called the Eastern Band of Cherokee.”
I nodded. Those were some of my people, or so it was always said in my family.
“And the people who made it to Oklahoma set themselves up as a nation again and started over. They had an alphabetthought up by a man named Sequoyah, and a constitution and a government and a newspaper and schools.”
Right after Ivy said that, she seemed to freeze, like she suddenly realized what she was doing: standing up in front of the class giving a speech. She took a deep wavering breath and said, kind of sudden, “The end.”
She’d been reading from her papers all along without ever looking up, which the computer said not to do, but it was a good speech anyway. Right after she said “The end,” she darted a look at me. Then she sat down.
When the next speech started (Randy Curtis talking about his favorite computer game, which was not interesting at all), I took the chance to pass Ivy a note. We’re not supposed to do that, but it was important. My situation was nowhere near
Similar Books
