Hi, all! So I promised extras from TMEO, and for this one is a blurb from an opening scene of an inkling I had of a sequel. This is in the perspective of Silas and Amadahy’s eldest daughter, Aurelia. The idea for the sequel was scrapped, but I hope you enjoy this scene. 🙂
I
frequently dreamt of the mountains, but my visions were always clouded by fire.
Pa always was the first to console me in the wake of my nightmares. His
soothing voice and his ageless sky-filled eyes were always so compassionate.
Mama was too, but she joked that he was a far better child-raiser than she
would ever be. To her, we were Cherokees. No doubt about it. My father was a
different story. He spoke Cherokee with such a nasal twang that it almost
became its own dialect, his people were my mother’s people, but also not.
Mixed-bloods. Melungeons. Whatever that meant. Nevertheless, we were raised in
the towering, smoky blue mountains as the people of this land. The smoke grew
thicker, the air hazier…
Fists meeting wood shot me from my thoughts,
and my pulse quickened, bringing me back to my senses. I had never in my entire
life seen my father lose his temper with my brother or me. Everyone had left
their peace behind with the start of the war, and I had to admit that I was the
first to tire of such trifles.
“No,
no! I won’t stand for this!” He didn’t even bother to scold my brother in
Cherokee. He was truly angry. And rightfully so.
The
newest edition of The Phoenix was
splayed across the table, the page in question crumpled into a ball. “The
Nation decreed it so, Pa. We’re obligated to serve the Confederate Army as
Cherokees. Chief Watie said so. Chief Thomas has said so.”
“This
Watie is not our chief, neither is this Thomas. We are not part of this Nation,
East or West. Maybe one day we will be, but I will not serve the army that
threaten to enslave my children in a rich man’s war! East Tennessee is part of
the Union. If you are called to fight, you will not smear our people’s
reputation by fighting for the Confederate Army! Do I make myself clear?” His
eyes almost glowed when he lost his temper. It was a piercing, venomous gaze
that usually prevented him from shouting or beating us in the past. All we
needed to get in line was that single sideways glance.
Mama
kept quiet. Her temper was worse than Pa’s was, and I could tell from her
pursed lips and deepening stress lines that her teeth were clamping down onto
her tongue.
“You
have no right to tell me who I can and cannot fight for!” Now my brother was
shouting, “The Cherokee Nations have called for us to serve the Confederacy! I
can’t believe out of everyone in this settlement, you would be the first to
denounce your standing as a warrior of the Cherokee people!”
“I
left my warrior days behind me after Removal ended. And you forget, Asher, that
you do not just have a duty to your mother’s people, but to my people as well.
Would you so endanger them as to fight for a cause that wishes to march them
away in shackles? You would not be valued among their ranks, but only as cannon
fodder for their more valuable white men. To them, you are only a lowly
Melungeon. What part of that don’t you understand?”
Mama
finally spoke. “He’s right, you know. You forget since we have lived so
peacefully here that you are not a white man’s equal in their eyes. You are still
considered lesser because you are colored, Indian. We all are.”
That
was the day our house became divided. My little brother shortly left to fight
for the Confederate Cherokee cause. Mama was distraught. Her heart was pulled
in two different directions, and much of the settlement was the same. Though
most agreed on one thing: only become involved when it became necessary. Unfortunately
for my family, necessary came sooner than we would have liked when my father,
and all the other men in our town, were conscripted as manpower for the Union
cause.
“Silas
Vanover, Mixed-blood Cherokee. Age forty-two. Assignment: United States Colored
Troops, First Alabama Infantry.”
AUTHOR | HISTORIAN | ARTIST 