Follow the Sun (35 page)

By most people’s standards?
Erica gazed at Drake Lancaster quizzically, and was touched by the quiet brand of anguish in his eyes. “We’ll tell her what you said,” she assured him. “James?”

James glanced at her, saw her beseeching gaze, and sighed. “All right.”

Drake reached into a shirt pocket. “Erica, you need to take care of this. I know you have one similar to it.” He held out a familiar-looking gold medallion. “It belongs to Tess.”

Erica gasped and took the medallion from him. “What are you doing with it?”

“I promised her that I’d have it translated. Can you do that for me? I’ll send for it later.”

Erica gaped at him in utter astonishment. “What’s going on with Tess? Is she all right?”

“Your cousin is fine. She’s on her way out of the country. There was a misunderstanding about a diamond she owned. She was in trouble. It wasn’t her fault, but she’s under protection now.”

James took the medallion and looked at Drake carefully. “You had her hidden up in the caves near Bryson.

Drake nodded. “I wasn’t in charge; a friend of mine was. She’s under his protection. There’s no need to worry about her.” He gazed at Erica in apology. “I promise that all of this will be explained to you eventually.”

“What about my sister?” James asked with quiet authority.

“I’ll be back.”

“When?” Erica asked.

“I don’t know. Tell her to wait. Tell her …” He paused, searching for words, a private man who didn’t feel comfortable discussing his emotions. “Tell her this is just the beginning for us.”

“All right,” Erica said softly.

“Good-bye.” He shook hands with her, then held out a hand to James. “Trust me. I’m on the level.”

After a second James returned the shake. “If you’re
not, don’t ever let me catch you inside the Qualla boundary again.”

“Good enough,” Drake agreed pleasantly. He went to his truck and climbed inside. “Oh. For your information, Erica, your great-great-grandparents are buried in California, near San Francisco. Tess found their graves.

“They lived there until sometime in the eighteen-fifties. They started a big vineyard and named it Glen Mary, after a daughter who died when she was still a baby. Tess never learned where Justis and Katherine went after they left California, but they eventually came back there to die. They’re buried next to their daughter.”

“Thank you,” Erica said numbly, stunned.

She and James watched Drake Lancaster drive away. Erica took her cousin’s medallion and stared at it in consternation. “Mystery,” she said plaintively. “More mystery. What now?”

J
AMES CAME TO
a disturbing realization: He’d never been happier. The more he learned about Erica, the more there was to know. They shared many interests, and her fascination with the Cherokee language and lore was inexhaustible, much like her fascination with making love.

He tried not to wonder if that fascination had little to do with him personally, and he kept reminding himself that she was an eager listener when he talked about his plans for creating a co-op where local furniture craftsmen could design and sell their work.

After a week of enjoying each other, they took the medallions to show to Grandpa Sam.

Becky had a date, but on her way out she presented Erica with a pair of beautiful deerskin ankle boots she’d made. They had elaborate beadwork across the toes.

In the shape of big butterflies.

“For bringing my brother back home,” Becky announced.

James’s heart sank at the guarded way Erica smiled, and he wondered what she was thinking.

But she laughed at the butterflies and seemed mesmerized by the workmanship in the boots. “Why don’t you make these to sell?” she asked Becky.

“Aw, it’s just a hobby. The restaurant keeps me busy.”

“If you ever want to market them, I’d be glad to help. I have a friend who works for Neiman-Marcus. I could show these to him.”

Becky looked pleased, but James only thought, When you go back to D.C.

After Becky left, Erica changed her tennis shoes for the boots and padded proudly around the Tall Wolf kitchen. Grandpa Sam, seated at the kitchen table rolling bean dumplings, chortled at her.

“You got Cherokee feet now,” he proclaimed.

James went to Echo, who stood at the stove, and put his arm around her. “Have you heard from Drake?”

Echo stirred a pot of thick stew and shook her head. “But he’ll be back.”

“No man can resist a woman of the wolf clan,” James teased gently. “And I think Lancaster’s trustworthy.”

Erica came over and patted her arm. “I agree.”

Echo gave them both a meaningful look, then smiled up at her brother. “You’ve mellowed since you came home this time, I wonder why?”

James glanced over her head and met Erica’s eyes. She winked at him as if his sister’s innuendo were a cute joke. He winced inwardly. Now was as good a time as any to break the news. “I’m here to stay this time.”

“James!” Echo dropped the spoon and hugged him.

Erica gave him a smile that cut him to the heart. She wasn’t upset about his announcement, that was certain.

Sam trotted over and threw his arms around both of his grandchildren. Then he grabbed Erica and hugged her. “I knew the first night I saw you that you were good for James! I said to the girls, That’s the one! That’s the one he’s been waitin’ for.’ ”

“Grandpa, Erica and I are just friends,” James interjected quickly, trying to keep her from feeling more uncomfortable.

She shot him a strained look but made a joke; she didn’t want anyone to make permanent plans for the two of them, that was obvious.

Echo, sensing the tension, shooed Grandpa to the table with Erica in tow, ordering them both to finish the dumplings. In Erica’s honor, dinner was to be old-time Cherokee fare—dumplings made from brown beans and cornmeal, squirrel stew, baked cucumbers, and sweet-potato cakes.

James made some vague excuse about going upstairs to get the box of Civil War memorabilia left by his great-great-grandfather William. At the top of the stairs he sat down and lit a cigar, but held it limply in his hands and sat frowning into space.

He couldn’t call off his bargain with Erica; that wouldn’t be fair. But if they had no future together how could he go on like this for another five weeks, needing her more each day, living so close to her thoughts and feelings that he was
da-nitaka
with her, standing in her soul?

Well, there was only one way to help this situation—spend as little time with her as possible until she went home. James got to his feet and moved wearily down the hallway, missing her already.

From the corner of his eye he caught sight of a photograph, and stopped to study it. The beautiful smiling brunette was Danna, Travis’s dead wife. James could barely stomach the sight of her even now.

She’d taken malicious pleasure in skewering him after he offered her the house in Chicago. She’d come home and told Travis that his brother had asked her to be his mistress.

Travis hadn’t believed that nonsense, but he’d been furious about James’s intervention in his marriage. And thus the bitterness had begun between them.

James continued down the hall, his teeth gritted. Erica was no Danna—he hated even thinking Erica’s name so soon after looking at Danna’s photograph. No, she wouldn’t ruin him the way Danna had ruined Travis.

Erica would ruin him through decency, kindness, and her honest need for a temporary teacher and companion. Erica would ruin him. because he knew that falling in love with her was right, and good, and hopeless.

I
T WAS HARD
to concentrate on history after James’s disgruntled reaction to his family’s matchmaking comments. Erica kept hearing his grim voice saying that he and she were just friends. He certainly wanted
that
point made clear.

She faked her appetite during dinner, and was glad when they adjourned to a card table Echo had set up in the den. Erica sat stiffly in a folding chair and watched Grandpa Sam spread out photocopied letters, photographs. Confederate money, and other memorabilia.

“Got a present for you, Eh-lee-ga.” Sam picked out a tinted contemporary portrait and handed it to her. “Guess that was made sometime around the big war.”

“World War II,” James explained.

Erica gazed at a studio portrait of a mature, attractive Cherokee woman wearing a black dress with big white lapels. A fat braid of graying black hair wound around her head like a crown, and there was enough imperial strength in her eyes to make the crown seem appropriate.

Her eyes. Gallatin green eyes. Erica gasped softly. “Is this Dove?”

Grandpa Sam grinned. “Yep. She gave me that a
few years ago. Said she wanted to tell folks that a good-looking man was carrying her picture around.”

Erica felt James’s fingertips on her chin. “Gimme a look, Red,” he murmured gruffly. He held the photo beside her face and studied the similarity in eye color. “I wonder if the green eyes started with old Justis Gallatin?”

“They must have, because I’m not directly related to Dove. My cousin Kat is.” She glanced at Sam. “Thank you. This picture means a lot to me.”

“Dove was a good friend,” he answered solemnly. “But you know, there was a lot of mystery about her. She didn’t come here until after the war. Never would talk about the years before, but I think she must have had a husband, maybe even some children. Don’t know what happened to ’em.”

James handed the two medallions to him. “Can you make sense of these, Grandpa?”

Sam hummed and squinted as he ran one knotty, olive-brown finger under the symbols. “This is old style—different ways of saying things, words I don’t recognize. Tribe has more than one way of talking. Oklahoma way, North Carolina way. Back before the removal, there were even more ways.”

“Different dialects,” Becky explained.

“Can you make out anything?” Erica asked anxiously.

Sam pointed to one side of Tess’s medallion. “Katlanicha Blue Song, daughter of Jesse and Mary Blue Song, sister of Anna, Elizabeth, and Sallie. Then … something about a place in Georgia, 1838.”

“Katlanicha.” Her heart racing, Erica looked at James.

“The journal,” he said, nodding, his eyes black with fascination. “The woman on the Trail of Tears.”

“Of the Blue clan.” Erica pressed trembling hands together and tried not to squeal with delight. “That was my great-great-grandmother!”

“Blue clan,” Echo murmured, smiling. “Good.
Now you know your clan. That was the most important connection a Cherokee had.”

“Still is,” Sam said firmly. He studied her medallion. “Can’t make this one out much. Only thing I recognize is this.” He pointed to a long row of symbols on one side. “The trail where they cried. That’s the Cherokee word for the Trail of Tears. She was sent off with the rest of the tribe, I guess.”

“But she obviously escaped from the man who kidnapped her,” Erica said softly. James explained to Echo and Sam about the journal article.

“Let me keep these a while and I’ll figure ’em out,” Sam told her, looking at the medallions.

“Thank you. Grandpa Sam!”

“You’re welcome, Eh-lee-ga of the Blue clan.”

Erica was so proud that she forgot James’s earlier coolness and grabbed his hand. He smiled pensively but bent over and kissed her fingers like an old-world gallant.

“Now I can call you Red Blue.”

She laughed, and Echo pointed out, “In the old days you couldn’t marry inside your own clan. Remember that. If you stick with tradition you have to marry a man from one of the others. Bird, Long Hair, Paint, Potato, Deer, or Wolf.”

James let go of her hand and said drolly, “I think Erica needs to find someone from the Democrat clan.”

“Independent,” she corrected, smiling while his impersonal words knifed through her.

Erica tried to concentrate as Grandpa Sam began talking about James’s great-great-grandfather. William Tall Wolf had joined a Cherokee infantry regiment during the Civil War.

William, the half-Cherokee son of the first James Tall Wolf and Amanda, his Quaker wife, had apparently been a well-educated young man. Sam read from his voluminous letters William had written home, letters filled with emotion and colorful details.

“William’s regiment even caught itself a Cherokee Yankee,” Grandpa Sam said proudly, thumping a letter.
“Up in Tennessee. A mixed-blood, like William. But a
Yankee
spy. William says here the fellow was about his own age. Maybe twenty-one, twenty-two.”

Grandpa Sam fished around in the clutter on the table and picked up a tarnished locket. “That spy told William to take this to his wife and son up in New York. Wanted her to have it after the war.”

“What happened to the spy?” Erica asked.

“They shot him.”

“They shot one of their own tribe?”

“He was a Yankee spy. The way William wrote about him, he musta been a nice feller, and I guess they felt bad about shooting him, but it was wartime.”

Erica took the locket and gently examined it. More than a century’s passing couldn’t keep her from feeling sorry for the young man who’d died. “Why didn’t William take this to the spy’s family?”

“Tried to, I reckon. Probably just couldn’t find them after the war. People got so scattered.”

Erica opened the badly aged locket and peered inside. “Hmmm. There’s an inscription. It’s almost worn off.” She added wistfully, “Maybe the spy rubbed his fingers over it for good luck.”

James took the locket and went to a lamp beside Grandpa Sam’s recliner. He squinted at the engraving and read slowly, “There’s part of a date—I can only make out the year. I think it’s 1860. And there are initials. R.T.—I can’t make out the third one—to E.A.R.”

Erica gazed at him in shock. “E.A.R.?”

James nodded. “Ear.”

She vaulted up and hurried to his side. “Let me see.” Erica grasped the locket in quivering hands and read and reread the initials in disbelief. “My great-grandmother’s maiden name was Ear! I mean, her initials were E.A.R. It’s always been a family joke. Erica Alfonza Rutherford. I’m named after her!”

With a yelp of excitement Echo joined them, staring
at the unimportant-looking little locket in awe. “What do you know about her?”