Bouquet for Iris (2 page)

When they were all seated, Uncle Mac leaned forward and closed his eyes. Iris followed his lead and listened as he blessed the food, the arrival of loved ones, and the celebration of Christ’s birth.

Warmth seeped through her at the thought of Baby Jesus being born. What a miraculous event that reached out to envelop all of them this evening. She added her thanks to having been raised in a Christian home. The good Lord had showered so many blessings on her and her family.

Uncle Mac ended the prayer, and Iris let her gaze drift around the table as her relatives talked about their plans for the Christmas season and the upcoming year. She could not repress a shiver of anticipation. Surely the Lord wouldn’t wait much longer before showing her His plan for her life.

Eugene Brown escorted Iris to a group of ladies who included her ma, Aunt Dolly, and Grandma Landon, her paternal grandmother. Iris thanked him for their dance and wondered if he realized how much relief showed on his face as he left her standing with her relatives.

Grandma Landon raised her brows at Eugene’s abrupt departure. “Someone ought to teach that young man his manners. He didn’t even speak, much less thank my granddaughter for dancing with him.”

Aunt Dolly nodded. “Young people these days have such lackadaisical habits.”

“Perhaps we should not be so hasty to judge.” Ma’s voice gently chided the others as she turned and watched Eugene dash out of the ballroom. “You see, the poor boy may have a valid reason to hurry.”

“He probably needs to go rub his feet.” Iris could not keep the mischief out of her voice. “I know I must have stepped on them a dozen times during our dance.”

All three of her relatives were taken aback by her pronouncement, but then Ma smiled. “I did notice that Mr. Brown was a bit shorter than you.”

Iris raised her eyebrows. “His head was at the level of my shoulder. And his steps were so short I felt I was mincing my way through our dance.”

Her grandmother studied her from head to toe. “You may be a bit tall, child, but that color you’re wearing is very becoming.”

A sound of irritation came from Aunt Dolly. “Doesn’t anyone in this family have a bit of fashion consciousness?”

Grandma looked somewhat affronted at the comment, but she must have decided to exercise her manners by ignoring Aunt Dolly’s question. She turned her attention to her daughter-in-law. “Where are your parents, Rebekah?”

“They volunteered to entertain Hannah and Eli this evening so they would not have to stay at the house alone.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t volunteer for that duty, given your oft-repeated disdain for parties.”

“I wouldn’t let her stay home this year,” Aunt Dolly answered for Ma. “Of course, I was hoping she would bring the children with her.”

Ma shuddered. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

Iris could feel the corners of her mouth turning up. “Our Eli has far too much energy to behave himself all evening. If he had come, you would all bemoan his inability to mind his manners.”

A flurry of activity at the door gained their attention. Several footmen were bringing a shiny washtub into the ballroom. Aunt Dolly excused herself and moved toward them to supervise the placement of the tub. Iris knew from previous parties that it was filled nearly to the rim with water. The housekeeper entered with a sack of apples that she dumped into the tub as soon as Aunt Dolly was happy with its placement.

Iris clapped her hands together. “Can I try catching an apple this year, Ma?”

Grandma looked up at the ceiling as if for guidance before addressing Iris’s mother. “I hope you will not allow any such thing, Rebekah. It’s not seemly for a young lady to dampen her gown or hair by taking part in such high jinks.”

“I have to agree, Iris.” Ma reached out and tweaked one of her daughter’s curls. “Your coiffure already seems to be in some danger of coming undone. You would not want to be seen with your hair around your shoulders.”

Iris reached up and patted some errant strands back into place. It was a shame her naturally curly hair was so thick and heavy. Ma had spent nearly an hour taming her unruly mane this evening before they came to the party, but she could tell it was trying to escape the dozens of pins that had been twisted into it. “Perhaps I could take it down and plait it like I used to do?”

Ma looked as if she was considering the request, but then she shook her head. “You are a grown woman now, Iris. The time for you to sport braids in public is long gone.”

Iris let her shoulders droop, but then an idea popped intoher head. “If I’m so grown, then won’t you reconsider that advertisement in the
Sentinel
?”

“What advertisement?” Grandma asked. “And what are you doing reading newspapers? Does your ma not give you enough chores to fill your day?”

Ma tossed a warning look at Iris. “We have gone through this several times, dear. You know that your father and I prayed about your request. We simply don’t think it is advisable for you to travel to some little town in the wilderness to teach youngsters.”

“What?” Grandma’s voice was so loud that several people looked in their direction. “This is exactly my point, Rebekah. Young girls should not be allowed to fill their minds with all types of information. It’s not good for them. You see what can come of it. Now your daughter wants to travel all alone to some unknown destination.”

“It’s not unknown.” Iris defended her position. “It’s a town in Texas called Shady Gulch. Doesn’t that sound like a wonderful destination? I can practically see the little schoolhouse standing in front of a field of wildflowers, all whitewashed and sparkling. And it would be so fulfilling to help mold young people’s minds.”

“Or be attacked by marauding Indians or the Mexican army.” Her grandma shuddered. “Just because a town has a pretty name does not mean it’s a desirable destination.”

Ma patted Iris’s hand. “I know you want to teach youngsters, but there are lots of opportunities to do so right here in Nashville.”

“Quite right.” Grandma smoothed the front of her blue-and-white-striped skirt. “Why would you want to leave your loved ones?”

Iris wanted to argue with them, but she knew better. The look in Ma’s eyes was the same one she got when she had to chase a fox away from the chicken coop—determined. Iris sighed and turned to watch the young men who were taking turns trying to bite into one of the apples floating in the tub. Some of the young ladies had drifted in that direction to cheer for their favorite participants.

Eugene had come back in, and he was standing next to Melissa Baker, a young lady who was several inches shorter than he. It looked like she was trying to convince him to compete in the apple bobbing. But from the way he was shaking his head, Iris had the feeling he had no desire to accede to her wishes. Poor Eugene. It seemed that things were going from bad to worse for him this evening.

Pa walked over to them and put an arm around Ma’s waist.

Ma looked up at him. “Aren’t you going to bob for apples this year?”

Pa laughed. “I think it’s time for me to retire and leave the horseplay to the younger generation.”

The others talked about past Christmases, but Iris’s thoughts turned down a different avenue. She wished her expectations had not been met this evening. It would have been nice if some tall, handsome stranger had appeared and whisked her onto the dance floor.

She could almost see him—dark and handsome and, oh, so tall. He would have a mustache and hair that fell just so across his forehead. He would whisper sweet compliments into her ear and make her feel graceful and beautiful. Then he would bring her back to her parents and spend time talking intelligently with them of current events and his passion to serve the Lord. After the evening was over, her parents would be equally impressed by him. Then, of course, he would ride out to the farm to see her every day this winter, regardless of the cold and snow. And then he would propose in the springtime—

“Iris?” Ma’s voice intruded on her sweet imaginings. “Are you ready to leave, dear?”

Iris refocused her attention on her parents, surprised to see that Grandma Landon was no longer standing with them. The advanced hour seemed to hit her all at once. She covered a yawn with her hand.

Pa smiled at her. “It looks as if our daughter is more than ready. If we don’t whisk her away soon, I’m concerned she will fall asleep standing in the foyer.” He led them to the doorway where Aunt Dolly and Uncle Mac stood.

After hugs and best wishes were exchanged, Iris collected her cloak and followed her parents to the waiting carriage. Cold night air made her nose tingle, but the warm bricks at her feet kept her from shivering. She drifted in and out of sleep as her parents talked quietly of the evening. She heard her pa mention something about a meeting of the Cherokee leaders, but the words wove themselves into her dreams. Tomorrow she would remember to ask him about it.

Adam Stuart balled up his left fist and shook it at the dark sky, even though he cringed inwardly at the bleak hatred consuming his heart. But how could a caring God allow such a thing to happen?

Up until this day, he’d hoped he was wrong, but today he’d been proven absolutely correct in his pessimistic predictions. He spat at the ground. The treaty had been signed in New Echota this afternoon, a few days after Christmas. This should be a season of rejoicing and celebrating the human birth of God, not a time of fear and perfidy.

Today Adam had been an appalled witness to the worst kind of travesty. A small group of Cherokee leaders had sold their people’s extensive landholdings in Georgia, Tennessee, North Carolina, and Alabama to officials of the United States. They had willingly agreed to abandon their homes, move their families hundreds of miles away to a wild and unforgiving wilderness, and start all over again.

Couldn’t they see this would not be the end? They had been conceding tracts of their land to white men for more than two decades. And still they were asked to move—again and again and again. If this pattern continued, the Cherokee would soon be nothing more than a memory, a footnote in the history of the United States. Why had God created these people if He was willing to let them be destroyed? And why had God given Adam this desire to protect them?

Adam looked up once more at the sky. Hadn’t he given up everything to pursue his mission? And for what? The bitter taste of absolute defeat.

A harsh laugh escaped his chapped lips. Loss and defeat were his only companions anymore. What would he say to those who were depending on him back in Ross’s Landing? What would John Ross, the real leader of the Cherokee Nation, say? How could he justify what had happened? Would things look better tomorrow? Or worse?

Could he have done anything to change the treaty signing? His mind saw again the hard faces of the Cherokee and the gleeful expressions of the white officers. Both sides had already made up their minds and were not willing to listen to anything he said. He’d tried everything, hadn’t he? No matter what arguments he put forth, no one wanted to admit the possibility of making a terrible mistake. In the absence of Chief Ross, why hadn’t he been able to make John Ridge and his followers see that their actions would affect the Cherokee people for generations to come? Betrayed by these chieftains who actually represented only a small number of the tribe, what would they do?

The night seemed to grow even darker as Adam tried to make himself face the inevitable. The God he had always worshipped was apparently a white God who cared nothing for the plight of Indians, whether they worshipped Him or not. The Bible spoke of a God who loved and protected the helpless and innocent, but Adam had learned to disregard such fanciful stories.

His horse whinnied. Adam leaned forward, feeling a little guilty to have forced his faithful mount back onto the path they’d traveled that very afternoon. “Careful, Samson. I know you’re cold, but you have great strength in these—”

Samson reared up, and Adam fought to keep his seat. What was wrong with his horse?

A moment later he realized that the shadows to his right were moving. It was the only warning he had. Suddenly he was surrounded by a silent, deadly group. He fought to reach his rifle, but it was hopeless.

A noiseless adversary threw himself toward the saddle.

Adam clung to the pommel with dogged determination, but a blow to his head made him see stars. He was jerked off Samson. He crashed to the ground and tasted the cold, wet soil of the path he’d been traveling. Still fighting, Adam turned over in time to see the edge of a tomahawk sweeping toward him. A mighty roll sent him off the path and into dense brush. Thorns caught at his clothing and tore at his skin.

Grunts and stomps followed him into the forest.

With no time to get to his feet, he kept rolling. And then he was free of the brambles, hurtling downward to what would likely be his last resting place.

Something tickled Adam’s nose. A leaf? He reached up to bat it away and groaned. His arm hurt. He squinted to focus his vision, surprised to see dappled sunlight sparkling on dew-laced grass. Where was he? The woods? That was odd. He tried to sit up, but pain pushed him back against the cold ground.