Heart's Surrender Read online

  Her eyebrows arched. “Slaves?”

  “Sure. But not in the way you say the word. They just work for us and get good housing and food. We are not cruel to them.”

  She picked at the wildflowers again. “Your father must be very wealthy. My father can’t afford to own slaves.”

  He grinned. “See? We are not wild savages like you thought. We read and write and farm, and have our own government and everything. Now you can go home and tell your parents we are just like you.”

  She smiled and rose. “I wouldn’t dare. I wasn’t supposed to come up here at all. If my father knew I’d been here—”

  “Why? Because a wild Cherokee boy might find you and do terrible things to you?”

  She reddened again, looking down at the ground. “Partly. But that’s him, not me.” She met his eyes. “I came up here anyway, didn’t I? If I believed him about the Cherokee, I wouldn’t have come.”

  He nodded, rising himself. “And what if your father was right?”

  She met his eyes challengingly, looking ready to run. Then she smiled. “You’re just trying to scare me. You just don’t want me to come up here by your tree anymore.”

  He turned and hoisted himself up onto a branch. “You are a smart girl, Andrea Sanders. And I think maybe you are brave, too.”

  She smiled once more then, going to stand under him. “Why do you come here, Adam?”

  He looked up into the branches that spread in glorious splendor above him. “To be alone. To think. To try to figure out white men, Indians, why they are so different. To think about what I want to do with my life. Some of my people whisper that they fear some day the white men will make them leave this land.” He sighed deeply. “I would die if I had to leave this land…this tree. If white men came and said I had to go…” He clenched a fist and hugged a limb with his other arm. “I will never leave this place, except when I have to go away to school. This land is sacred to us, Andrea. Other Indians have roamed the land, but the Cherokee have been in this place for hundreds of years. We love these mountains, the trees, the red earth. We are like the animals here. It is our habitat. To take it from us would bring our death. I myself know every trail, every tree, every cave, every rock of this land. I feel one with it. To leave it would be like cutting out my heart.”

  There was a long moment of silence, and she watched him stare absently, suddenly in deep thought.

  He finally spoke up. “It can’t really happen. I think all that is foolish talk. We live good. We are peaceful, and we are educated like the white man. We farm, trade with him. We cause no trouble.”

  He looked down at her. “It can’t really happen, can it? How could they make us leave when we have been here these hundreds of years?”

  “I…I don’t know, Adam. I don’t think it will ever happen.”

  He swung down again, hanging for a moment before dropping. “Nor do I. But my people are worried because more factories are being built, more railroads. Our land is becoming very valuable, and there is nothing the white man loves more than valuable land. I think he loves it more than gold. There was a time when we could fight for it, just physical fighting with the border people. But now the fight will be in the courts, against the white man’s government. My father says such a fight will be much harder to win than just fighting hand-to-hand with knives and arrows.” He ran his hand over the tree trunk. “I think maybe he is right. Even now my people are having meetings to form their own government just like the United States, to make their own constitution and pick a president.”

  “My father and some of the others say that’s wrong—that you can’t make yourselves a separate state. It makes the white men mad.”

  He turned and kicked at a rock. “Why should it? They do the same thing. They come into a land, kick out the Indians, build it up, settle it, and then call it a state. We have been in this land much, much longer than any of them. Who has more right to claim some of this land as their own state than the Cherokee?”

  He met her eyes then. She wanted to look away, but his dark eyes seemed to hypnotize her. “I…I don’t know,” she answered. “But people like me don’t have much say.”

  He smiled, coming even closer, looking her over, noticing her chest was still almost flat but showing small buds of a bosom beginning to blossom. “That is too bad. They should listen to smart little girls like you, Andrea.”

  “Andy. My family and friends call me Andy.”

  He laughed lightly. “I like that. Andy. Okay, that is what I will call you when I see you again.”

  Andrea wished she could tear her eyes from his, yet deep inside she didn’t really want to. “How do you know you’ll see me again?”

  He studied her fair skin and freckles, the lovely blond hair he wanted to touch. “I just feel it, that’s all. Don’t you?”

  She blushed a little. “I…I guess maybe I do. I like talking to you, Adam. And I like this place.”

  “Then come again—early in the morning or late in the evening. I am almost always here, except Sunday mornings. I have to do my chores extra early because of church.”

  Her face brightened. “You go to church?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “There you go again. Yes, this wild Indian goes to church. We are Christians. This is 1826, you know. Nearly all of us are Christians. Many missionaries live among us.”

  “What kind of church do you go to?”

  “Methodist. Most of us are Methodist.”

  She smiled. “So are we.”

  Their eyes held, and both were suddenly warm all over, feeling a vibrant attraction but too new to speak of it. Her chest tightened strangely, and his breathing quickened. She was too tall for fourteen, too pretty. “They say on your side of the ridge some of the white girls let Cherokee boys…visit them,” he told her cautiously. He had to know.

  Her eyes widened and she immediately whirled, walking back to her pony. He hurried after her. “I’m sorry, Andrea…I mean Andy. I just wondered—”

  “How dare you!” she shot back in hot anger, her eyes brimming with tears. “Is that all you Cherokee boys think about?” She hurriedly untied the reins. “I should have known! I shouldn’t be here at all! I just thought I’d see something new. How did I know you’d be here!”

  “Wait, Andy.” He grabbed her arm and she jerked it away.

  “Besides that, I’m new here. How could you think…I don’t even know what those girls do…but I’m sure it’s something bad, the way you said it.” She climbed up on her pony, but he grabbed the bridle.

  “Honestly, Andy, I didn’t really think that of you. I only…I just wondered. I was hoping you wouldn’t be like them. I like you…like talking to you. Don’t go away mad.”

  She glared at him, her face still red from anger and embarrassment. Much as she wanted to hate him she could not. And what was he to think, she being there all alone and talking to a strange boy so easily? She wished she understood more about boys, how they thought, what they wanted. And was it right to be friends with one, especially when he was a Cherokee?

  “I came up here to be alone, too. I didn’t know you’d be here,” she said in a quivering voice, wiping quickly at her eyes. “I thought it was pretty up here, and I wanted to see the other side. Everybody talks about your people being over there. I just wanted to see.”

  He nodded. “Sometimes I walk down your side and watch the people. Some of your neighbors have been to our house to eat, and we’ve been to theirs.”

  “And they all get along?”

  “Of course they get along. Why shouldn’t they? It isn’t the border people who give us so much trouble anymore. It’s the people in the towns and other parts of the state, who don’t know anything about us. They still think we’re wild Indians, just like you did, and your father does. Make him come and visit us, Andrea, and he’ll see how we live.”

  She raised her chin proudly. “I might ask him.” She tossed her long, blond hair. “But I won’t tell him I’ve met a Cherokee. He’d tan my hi
de.”

  “You don’t have to tell him. Just bring it up, tell him you’re curious. Tell him you’ve heard neighbors visit with us all the time.”

  She held the reins tightly. “Why do you care if my folks visit?”

  He let go of the bridle. “I just do, that’s all.” He held her eyes. “Will you come back up here?”

  She backed the pony. “I don’t know. Maybe. But not if you think I’m like those girls you talked about.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t. Truly I don’t.”

  “Then why do you want me to come back? Surely you have your own friends. And I’ll be making friends on my own side. If I make friends with a Cherokee, it should be with a girl, not an older boy.”

  Shades of anger moved through his dark eyes and he turned away. “Never mind. I just like talking to you, that’s all. Go on home. Nobody said you had to be my friend or that I had to be yours.” He walked to the tree and hoisted himself up. “Go on with you,” he called out. “And don’t come back. This is my tree and I like to be alone.”

  She hesitated, watching him climb up until he was out of sight. “Okay, I’m going, Cherokee boy. You can have your old tree!” She turned her pony and headed down the ridge, going slowly, waiting for him to call to her to come back. But he said nothing. She worked her way down until the big oak was so mixed in with the surrounding forest that it was difficult to distinguish it from the rest of the trees. She stopped and stared back up at it for several quiet seconds. Was he still in it? Perhaps he was perched in such a way that he could see her looking back up at him.

  She headed on down, her heart strangely heavy. She hadn’t meant to be mean to him. She liked him, wanted to talk to him more, find out more about his people. Perhaps if she went back in the evening, or the next morning—But no. That would be too soon. He’d think she liked him too much, maybe think she really was like those other girls. It would probably please his male pride for her to go back right away. Besides, it wasn’t wise of her to see him again at all. The first time had been accident, but anything after that would be deliberate. That cast a different light on everything, deliberately sneaking up a mountain side to see an Indian boy. It sounded bad, looked bad. She would forget Adam Chandler and the big oak tree. But she’d meant to ask if he had an Indian name. Now she’d never know. And how was she to forget his face, his build, the odd feelings he gave her when he stood close to her? They were pleasant sensations that had made her wonder if she’d faint dead away if he touched her. She was thinking thoughts she’d never thought before. That was bad. Maybe Cherokee boys had a way of hypnotizing white girls and making them do bad things. Didn’t white people say the Indians had the devil in them? She’d better stay away from Adam Chandler.

  She had nearly reached the bottom of the ridge when Douglas Means came riding toward her, from the road that led to his father’s farm west of her own. He called out, and her stomach tightened. She trotted her pony toward her own farm.

  “Where’d you come from, Andy?” he asked, riding up beside her on his faster Thoroughbred. “You been up that mountain?”

  “That’s none of your business.” She refused to look at his pimpled, ruddy face and steely gray eyes. “I just took my pony for her exercise, that’s all.”

  “You up there looking for Cherokee boys?” he asked with a nasty laugh. “Maybe I’m wasting my time thinking you’re a lady, Andrea Sanders. If you won’t go to the woods with me, how come you rode up that ridge alone?”

  “Because I wanted to be alone,” she snapped, gritting her teeth. “Which means I want you to go away, too!”

  “Aw, poor little Andy. You’re fourteen, Andy. It’s time to find out about boys. I could show you a few things. It’s fun. Don’t you want to have fun like that?”

  She turned and made a face at him. “Not with an ugly thing like you, Douglas Means. If your sister wasn’t my best friend, I could get you in a lot of trouble.”

  “If you keep going up that ridge, you’ll be the one in trouble.”

  Her house was in sight, and Andrea was glad. She was afraid of Douglas Means. Oddly enough, she suddenly realized she’d never really been afraid of Adam Chandler at all, even though she’d been all alone with him up there on the mountain.

  “I heard there are some farm girls around here who like to go to the haylofts with boys,” she told Douglas.

  “Oh, yeah? Where’d you hear that?”

  “I just heard, that’s all. Why don’t you go find one of them and leave me alone? I don’t like you.”

  “Fact is, Miss Uppity, I’ve already found one or two. Had me a damned good time.”

  “Watch your language.”

  “You’d like it, too, if you tried it. And if you’re such a lady, you’d better stuff something in the keyhole the next time you and my sister take a bath. You sure are a skinny, flat-chested thing.”

  She met his eyes, her own flaring with rage, but he just laughed and turned his horse, riding off while she sat there furious and humiliated. Douglas Means had peeked at her and his own sister with nothing on. How she hated him! She’d tell her father on him, that’s what she’d do. But she realized that if she did, Douglas would say she’d been up on the ridge. Hot tears of frustrated anger stung her eyes as she headed her pony toward home. She’d have to be more careful after this, find a different way up the ridge and watch the road when she came down.

  She realized with surprise then what she’d been thinking. She’d go back. She’d go back and find Adam Chandler. After talking to Douglas Means, she suddenly wanted to see Adam again, partly for pure spite, partly because he was so different from Douglas. There was a proud air about him that told her Adam would never go around peeking through holes at his own sister, if he had one. He’d never treat a nice girl with the kind of disrespect Douglas showed.

  She moved her pony into the barn and dismounted, leading the animal into its stall and unbuckling the saddle strap. Suddenly she was full of excitement and wonder. She would wait a few days so that Adam didn’t get the wrong idea. But she would go back, for suddenly to think of him made her stomach so fluttery that food was the last thing she wanted. She should be very hungry by now, but she wasn’t. She had a secret, and she’d met someone very new and very different. It was exciting, fascinating. And his handsome face and powerful build were vivid in her mind now. Yes, she would go back up the ridge and find that Cherokee boy again. Adam Chandler. It was a nice name. But she still wondered if he had an Indian name. Would he be thinking about her like she was thinking about him now?

  She unsaddled the pony and made sure it had feed. She would brush it down later. She had to get inside and help with breakfast. She walked out of the barn and stared up at the ridge, wondering if he still sat there in the great oak tree.

  “You’d best be staying away from that place, girl,” came a voice behind her.

  She turned to meet her father’s stern, discerning eyes, and she reddened slightly. “Yes, Father. But…shouldn’t we try to meet some of those Cherokees and make friends with them…since we live so close and all?”

  He scowled and carried a couple of horseshoes toward the barn. “We’ll see. Best to keep the doors open, I suppose. Wouldn’t want that kind mad at me. Go on in the house now and help your mother.”

  “Yes, Father.” She hurried away, breathing a sigh of relief. He didn’t suspect a thing. And she began to wonder how she would stand the wait until she could see Adam Chandler again.

  Chapter Two

  Andrea adjusted the green ribbon tied into the side of her hair, then took one more look at herself in the hall mirror. Her matching soft green cotton dress was simple but full skirted, with a wide, green satin sash and bow, a high neck, and three-quarter-length puffed sleeves. It was her Sunday best, made by her mother’s hands, but a far cry from the stylish, elegant gowns wealthier women were wearing now, according to what she had seen in the store windows of Atlanta on their way north. Morgan Sanders was a simple, hard-working man, to whom fancy cl
othes were a frivolity. Most of his profits were put back into the farm, and he had taken a loss on the one he had sold in the south. Frugality was the word in the Sanders household, which meant homemade and properly simple clothing.

  Never had Andrea been so nervous. The Chandlers had been one of the families her father had ended up visiting on the other side of the ridge, and they had been the ones he’d chosen to invite to Sunday dinner, primarily because they had a daughter just one year younger than Andrea. So, Adam did have a sister.

  Adam! He was coming to their very house to eat. It was wonderfully exciting, secretly already knowing Adam Chandler. Apparently the boy had said nothing of having met Andrea on the ridge, or Morgan Sanders would have been furious when he’d returned from his visit.

  Andrea had not gone back to the oak tree since that first encounter, for she’d been worried about what Adam would think of her, though she’d wanted very much to go. His face had haunted her since their meeting, his bright smile and dark eyes, the vibrant feelings he gave her when he stood close to her. Her appetite, which had dwindled, had returned somewhat when Morgan Sanders had come home from visiting the Cherokee to announce that the Chandlers would be their guests at Sunday dinner. It had been almost two weeks since Andrea had seen Adam. She had thought perhaps she should and could forget about him. But now he was coming to dinner, and her stomach was so tight she wondered how she would ever get any food into it.

  She studied herself in the mirror. What would Adam think of her today? How would he act? Everything had to be perfect. After all, the Chandlers were very wealthy. It would all be so much easier if she didn’t already know Adam and feel this almost painful excitement at seeing him again. What would he think of their simple farm house and their clothing? And had he thought about her, or just laughed her off? After all, he was sixteen and had been to a school of higher learning. Surely he had met older girls more educated and refined than she. Why did that suddenly matter to her? She had not meant to lie at night and think about him, wonder what it would be like to be kissed by that Cherokee boy. Yet such thoughts had come without effort, and she wondered if they were sinful. She couldn’t understand why they had come at all, after one short meeting. Were some things brought about by destiny? Adam had said he was sure he would see her again, and now he was coming to Sunday dinner.