This story is just a taste of what I am working on. It is the fictionalized story of my own great-grandmother, Morning Star Robinson. Because family records are so sketchy, I have chosen to fill in known details with pure and absolute fiction. In the case where a real person, dead or alive, is involved, the names and circumstances have been changed to protect the guilty. This is not a pretty tale of romance and happily ever after. This is a tale of prejudice and revenge.
As the men in the wagons came over the hill and saw the village for the first time, were appalled. The village was poor and dilapidated, even for 1911. It seemed almost like something from the frontier days, with the patched roofs, log cabins, and unpaved streets.
There were good points, the more kind-hearted among the visitors thought. Each dooryard was swept clean, there was no trash or debris, and not a weed in sight. Every garden was large and neat, with the well-tended vegetable gardens in perfect rows. As they watched, a woman stepped out into the dusk, basket in hand, and went to the garden behind her home to harvest a few things for what was likely the evening meal.
It was getting dark, and they had a bit more time before they’d arrive at the village. Some of the men in the wagons were feeling very self-righteous. To them, the poverty below was reason enough for this night’s work. The children within had to be rescued from such misery, and shown a better path to God and to a productive life in society.
Other men in the wagons, much fewer in number, frowned with prejudice and hatred. The people below were scum of the earth, and did not deserve what would be handed to them this night, like a gift. They doubted anyone below would appreciate the hardships the men in the wagons were enduring for their sakes. They thought longingly of their comfortable homes and a soft chair in front of the fire, with their own wives serving them a hot dinner at the table.
One young man in the wagon frowned as well, but for a different reason. He did not like what was to happen tonight. To him, it was wrong, and cruel. He dreaded what lay ahead. Amos Tarby was a simple farmer, not like these other soft city fellows. What he saw below was far different from the poverty and misery the others saw. He saw snug cabins, well-maintained, and a pride of place. Wash hung on a few lines, the gardens were practical, neatly tended, and no children roamed about unwatched when they should be home getting ready for bed. Amos saw a quiet contentment below in the blooming lamps lighting windows.
Even as the wagons passed through the trees, Amos caught a glimpse of a man in a red shirt trudge home, tools in hand. The man in the red shirt carefully stowed his tools in a back shed, then went to the back door to take off his muddy boots before going inside. A chair by the back door ensured his comfort as he beat the boots up against the stoop and put them beside the chair. There was a comfortable routine to his actions, and as the man opened the door, Amos saw his smiling face reflected in the lamp glow from within. There was a man happy to be home to his wife and children.
One of the men in the lead wagon called a halt by raising his left hand. There was a wide spot in the road where they stopped all three wagons. So the drivers neatly and politely pulled off to the side, just in case another wagon or rider came by. Not that it was likely in this far-flung region of western North Carolina. Very few traveled here without good reason, and fewer still would be driving a large wagon.
Amos got out slowly, moving his stiffened limbs carefully to stretch muscles and back that ached from the long ride over rough roads. The other men, groaning and complaining about their aches and pains, got out and moved toward the leader who’d called the halt. Amos, wiser than his travelling companions, took his time. There was a beautiful view to the west to look at, and no harm in a body enjoying God’s creation while he fixed a creaky back and worked out a numb behind. The mountains had seemed blue in color, and wreathed in a soft fog. Amos was grateful for the late-afternoon warmth as he strode over to where Preacher Thomas and the others waited.
Preacher Thomas was a jolly man under normal circumstances, and his cheerful good humor hadn’t diminished in the slightest on the long journey from Raleigh. He was a man of middling height, with brown hair and brown eyes that twinkled often. He put his hands over his rounded belly, and smiled a welcome at Amos. “Gents, I think it would be best if we waited here a bit. No sense in disturbing these folks’ dinner, and I could use a bite myself. I’ll be doing a bit of talking later, and I’d like to have a full belly and a wet throat for it. Amos, son, why don’t you break out those picnic baskets the ladies of the church in the last town were kind enough to provide?”
The nine men ranged themselves comfortably just off the side of the road. No fire was needed, because the contents of the picnic baskets were well-packed and didn’t need warming. A few jugs of water and tea were available to soothe dry throats. It didn’t take long before the arguments broke out again. This time, Amos vowed to keep his mouth shut unless he couldn’t stand it. He lasted a whole five minutes this time.
“I still don’t think it is right to take young’uns from their parents this way, Preacher. Think how y’all would feel if someone took your kids away,” Amos pled earnestly.
“Now, now, Amos. Look at the poverty in that village below us. Why, I’d bet they’d be relieved to have a few less mouths to feed, and know their kids will be safe, warm and dry in school,” Preacher Thomas began.
“Horse…ahem! Nonsense, Preacher. Them Injuns don’t give a tinkers’ damn about schooling. They’d rather be ingnerent savages. Why are we wasting our precious tithes on Injuns when there’s plenty of our own kind that need help?” interrupted Lloyd Graham.
“Lloyd, ain’t you got a clue? Those kids’ll be educated in a trade, fed and housed by them Catholic nuns. We ain’t spending a dime, other than this here trip,” Ben Campbell shot back. He and Lloyd didn’t get along well.
“Some trades,” Amos murmured, but he was overheard. This didn’t bode well for Amos.
“Amos, you hypocrite. You use farm hands, don’t you on that big spread of your’n. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t mind a hand or two in a kid you don’t have to pay a white man’s wage to. You got your own ta think about here,” Ben said.
“An’ besides, Amos, the kids’ll be educated. That’s important. They’ll be taught to read-n-write, figure, and such. And speak English better’n their parents,” Preacher Thomas began again. He drew breath to say more, but was interrupted again.
“Yeah, Amos. They’ll have a chance at a better life than that,” Alex Rodan waved at the little village below.
“Oh, yeah, I can just see you hiring an Injun to do figures for you at your bank, Alex.” Amos shot back.
“Well, hell no! Uh, sorry Preacher. That’d be depriving a white man of a decent job. But my wife shure could use a hand back in the kitchen. She’d appreciate a girl who works hard and is as silent as these Injuns are, even after they learn to speak proper.” Alex answered.
“B’sides, them Injuns can only learn so much, y’know. Can’t teach ‘em enough to have ‘em do the kind of figuring Alex would need. They ain’t that bright. But they make fine manual labor, at least the boys do. Them girls, well, that’s how them Catholics pay for it. They get ‘em married off, and the husbands pay for their education and keep. It’s a fine bargain.” John Kendall said, entering the fray. “Why, one of my hands married one.”
“Yeah, I remember that,” Amos muttered. The girl had lasted two years before John’s hand had beat her to death. Poor kid.
“I still ain’t happy about this anyway, but not fer the same reasons as ol’ softy Amos here. Why, I think he’d give them Injuns equal rights or somethin’, if he could.” Aaron Gordon laughed. “What would they do with equal rights anyways? Most of ‘em are drunk no-accounts.”
“That’s not possible, ya ignerant fool,” Now Harry Brown was jumping in. “They are a Sovereign Nation, you know. They aren’t even citizens of the United States. Can’t vote.” Harry was a lawyer in Raleigh.
Amos was even more appalled. “You mean we are stealing kids from another country, legally?” he asked in a shocked voice.
“Amos, you really are a sap, aren’t ya? I keep telling you, all we are doing is coming to get those poor kids and take them to school. What they do with their Christian education is their business. They can leave after they turn eighteen and get jobs and be productive members of society. What have they got here but starvation and poverty? We’re doing them a FAVOR, I tell you!” Now Preacher Thomas was getting mad again.
Amos bit back his rejoinder mentioning again that they were being stolen from homes and family. He didn’t know of a single instance where any one of the kids taken ever went back home. Mostly because they didn’t know where home was, and didn’t have the money to get back home, if they did. It was a sorry state of affairs in his book.
He walked away as the talk turned to any possibility that the parents might fight to keep their kids. That’s why Aaron and Lloyd were along for the ride. Aaron and Lloyd hated everyone but white English-speaking folks, and made that perfectly clear. They were itching for a chance to use their guns on any poor parents who stood in their way.
Preacher Thomas and the others honestly believed they were doing the right thing, Amos knew that. He could see that learning to read, write and figure would be a nice thing. He’d love to be able to do more than simple figures himself. The others saw poverty and misery only in that village below. Amos saw happy, proud families who cared about their homes and the land. The place wasn’t dirty, and didn’t even smell bad. Just the good, clean smell of manure drifted up on the evening breeze, along with the smells of suppers being served. The place wasn’t all that large, really. A small town of maybe twenty or thirty families, if that. He wasn’t sure. Some of those buildings were dark, now, as if no one lived there. But they didn’t look like shops or churches. It was getting too dark to see anyway. He lit his pipe and smoked, looking out in the darkness.
Finally, Preacher Thomas hustled the men all back in the wagons. Amos was ignored, so he jumped in the back of the last wagon with the remaining supplies and rode on the tailgate.
The old man must have been the chief or something. He was the only one who spoke much English, or for that matter spoke at all. He offered to let the visitors sit, but the floor didn’t look comfortable at all. They remained standing. Seemed kind of silly to Amos not to sit. The dirt floor was clean, and packed down hard. In fact, it was kind of cozy, if a bit bare. Nothing much to see, except some odd decorations on the wall and a fire pit in the center of the room. One of the men took to lighting the fire against the cold night air.
Preacher Thomas introduced himself and told the old chief that they had come to bring the children to school. The old man nodded for a moment, and turned to the others who stood waiting. He talked for a moment in that guttural language of theirs. Some of the men standing around answered back, then folded their arms over their chests and looked stubborn. An older woman stood off to one side. She spoke to the old man, briefly, and he answered.
“Why do you wish to do this?” the old man asked calmly.
“Why, so your kids will have a better life. They’ll get jobs, and know how to read and write,” Preacher Thomas answered.
“Anna Whitedeer over there remembers when white men came and took her brothers when she was a child. Her brothers never returned. How do we know our children will return to us?” The old man remained calm, but the others shifted restlessly. Amos could see Aaron and Lloyd’s hands twitching while they held their rifles loose. He could see they were itching for a fight to start.
“Well, now, that’s up to the kids. They’ll be allowed to come home. We ain’t taking them as slaves or anything. They’ll go live at the school and get taught. Then they have the choice to come home or not after they are done.” Preacher Thomas wasn’t telling the whole truth, and Amos knew it. He bit his lip.
The chief considered this. “We have our own writing and we teach our children ourselves. Why do they need to go away to learn to write?”
“Because if they learn English and get a Christian education, they can get better jobs.” Preacher Thomas was clearly getting impatient with having to repeat himself.
“No. You will not take our children. You have not proven to me that this is better.” The chief started to rise, but Aaron and Lloyd leveled their guns at him and the ten or fifteen men behind him. The woman, Anna Whitedeer, gasped, but had the good sense to stand still.
The old man turned, and his eyes burned with hatred for the first time. Amos was surprised to see no fear, and a large cloak of dignity descended on the old man. “So, the white man still steals. He stole land. Now he steals children.” He looked with contempt at Preacher Thomas, who was appalled at this turn of events.
“I keep telling you, old man. We ain’t stealing your kids. We are taking them to be schooled. Nothing more.” Preacher Thomas said earnestly.
“We say no, and still you want to take. This is not stealing?” The old man folded his arms, and looked unconvinced and angry.
“No it’s not!” Preacher Thomas was nearly beside himself.
Amos couldn’t stand it anymore. He stepped forward. The old man turned to him. Amos spread his hands to show he was unarmed, and the old man relaxed a trifle. This was better. “Look, Mr….uh…”
“Bushyhead. Chief Bushyhead.” Amos heard sniggers behind him at the funny name, but ignored them. This was important.
“I’m sorry, Chief. I guess we ain’t explaining ourselves very well. If you let the kids come with us, then they will get to sleep and eat in the church, get taught to read and write, and even do math. That’s something I can’t do good, myself. Then they can come home if they want to.” Amos shot a look at the woman, Mrs. Whitedeer. “And I promise I’ll take good care of them myself on the way back to Raleigh.”
Mrs. Whitedeer studied Amos carefully. With a look at Aaron and Lloyd, she slowly walked forward with her hands spread so they could see she too was unarmed. She walked up to Amos, and said, “Hands, please”.
Amos, bewildered, stuck out his hands. Mrs. Whitedeer turned his hands over and studied his palms. She ran a finger over his calluses, then spoke to Chief Bushyhead.
Chief Bushyhead nodded at her words, then turned to Amos. “You have a name?” he asked.
“Amos Tarby, Chief.” Amos’ hands were still in Mrs. Whitedeer’s.
“Anna wishes to know what you do.”
“Uh, I’m a farmer. What’s that got to do with anything?” This was a strange turn of events.
The Chief translated. Anna studied Amos, looking him directly in the eyes. Amos looked back, trying to tell her with his eyes that he didn’t like this any more than she did, but he’d do his best to look after the kids. He had kids of his own after all.
Anna’s eyes softened just a bit. Amos tried to convey his concern about what Lloyd and Aaron would do if they didn’t get their way. He glanced at Aaron’s gun. Anna nodded. Without turning, she gabbled something else. Sounded like she was cussing to the Chief, but he just grunted. Anna let go of Amos’ hands, much to his relief, and stepped back.
Chief Bushyhead turned to Amos entirely, and proceeded to ignore Preacher Thomas and the guns still leveled at him. “Amos Tarby, Anna Whitedeer is our medicine woman. She says you are a good man. If you promise to take care of our children, she believes you. We accept the promise of Amos Tarby. You will smoke tobacco with us?” Chief Bushyhead glanced down where Amos’ pipe stuck out of his pocket.
“Chief, I’d love to have a smoke.” Amos had never been more grateful for the offer. He’d never been more nervous in his life. Somehow, some way, he’d managed to keep these folks from getting killed, and possibly himself if a fight had really gone awry. He really needed a smoke, but didn’t want to do it in front of a lady. Anna Whitedeer smiled, and left.
“We sit. Anna will bring food and drink.” This time Chief Bushyhead wasn’t taking no for an answer. He sat down, precisely where he was on the dirt floor, not far from the fire. He then indicated a spot next to himself. Amos gratefully sat down, and managed to fold his long legs into something similar to the way the old man sat. Surprisingly enough, it was sort of comfortable.
Preacher Thomas made everyone else to sit, and told Aaron and Lloyd to put down their guns. He whispered that Amos was doing something right, so shut up and let him handle it.
Amos brought out his pipe and tobacco pouch. The Chief was handed a pipe with a fairly long stem, but no tobacco. Amos offered to share his. For some reason, this pleased the other Indians, and some even smiled. They filled their pipes in companionable silence, and lit up with a stick from the fire.
Mrs. Whitedeer came back with more drinks and food. Amos took another mug of cider, and said, “Thank you, Ma’am” without thinking. He heard Lloyd’s intake of breath at his politeness to an Indian, but Lloyd was a rude bastard anyways. Never hurt to be polite. Mrs. Whitedeer just smiled, gave Chief Bushyhead a cup, and went around the room giving food and drink to all.
A young woman followed around, offering more of those corn cakes. Amos took one of those too, and put it on his knee for after he smoked his pipe. He was going to relish that cake. This one had been smeared with a bit of honey, and Amos had a sweet tooth he couldn’t control very well.
Chief Bushyhead didn’t say too much, just sat there smoking his pipe. This young man was better than his friends. He was an honest one, and Anna said he worked hard. He had even brought a gift of tobacco that was sweet and smooth. Anna was a good medicine woman, and very wise. This Amos Tarby had made a promise to The People, and smoked tobacco to seal the bargain. When Mary Born-in-Moonlight brought a honeyed corn cake to Amos Tarby, Amos had not even looked at another man’s wife, but had taken the cake like a greedy child who loves sweets. Chief Bushyhead almost laughed, and bet himself that Amos was even polite enough to smack his lips and show appreciation for good food. Enough study. Time to talk politely, he reminded himself.
They spoke of what they were planting in their fields. Amos, feeling comfortable talking about farming, was proud to say his corn looked real good, and he was thinking about trying some new squash varieties he’d seen at the county fair last fall. He’d taken his eldest boy with him, and they’d been able to pick up a small bag of seeds to try.
Chief Bushyhead nodded appreciatively, and also exaggerated politely about their upcoming yields of corn and beans. Why, this young man was quite polite! Something inside Chief Bushyhead relaxed. The children would be in good hands. Amos Tarby was a good father to teach his son to bargain well.
When the tobacco in his pipe was all gone, Amos reached for the corn cake. The warmth of the fire had made the honey seep all the way through. Amos couldn’t help smacking his lips and licking his fingers to get all the honey off. Wouldn’t be polite to shake a man’s hand with honey all over it, after all. Chief must’ve liked that; he actually grinned.
Chief Bushyhead said, “Amos Tarby will be tired after travelling so far. You and your friends will sleep here in comfort. Tomorrow, we bring the children to you. Tonight, they say goodbye to their parents.”
Amos recognized a compromise when he heard one. It wouldn’t hurt to sleep in this building next to the fire, and leave in the morning. It was late, and no sense in dragging kids out of their beds. He glanced at Preacher Thomas, who nodded amiably. “Fine and dandy by me, Chief. I don’t see any harm in letting the kids say ‘bye to their Mammas and Daddies one last time, and get a good breakfast in ‘em before we head on down the road.” He stuck out his hand, for a handshake.
Chief Bushyhead looked down in pleasure, and grasped Amos Tarby’s forearm. As far as Chief Bushyhead was concerned this young man was a good friend to The People. He would be able to comfort the parents by telling them how Amos Tarby had averted a fight by promising to take care of the children. All would be well. Amos Tarby would see to it the children returned in good time. “Amos is a good man, and friend to The People. I will be there to wish you a safe travel in the morning.”
Amos nodded, and escorted Chief Bushyhead to the doorway of what he now called the “meeting house”. Preacher Thomas motioned to the others to remain seated, stood up, and followed. He needed to show that he still felt in charge a bit, if nothing else to control those hotheads, Aaron and Lloyd. “Uh, pardon me, Chief. Just wanted to ask one question of you.”
Chief Bushyhead turned, just outside the doorway. “Yes, Reverend Thomas?” he responded mildly. His old bones were creaking and he desperately wanted the comfort of his home and wife, but he could be kind for Amos’ sake. This one still thought he was in charge, and Chief Bushyhead understood the need to placate those who enjoyed power too much when they had been humiliated.
Preacher Thomas puffed himself up, a little. “I just had to ask. You speak English real good. How’d you learn to?” This fella spoke English like a gentleman, and it was killing his curiosity. Had the Chief himself gone to the school and returned? Was that the reason he was so against it?
Chief Bushyhead smiled. “Missionaries, Reverend Thomas. We have a church here, in the next valley. Sequoia gave us our own writing, but it is good to know the language of those you must bargain with. I speak for the People. So, I learned English. Does this help you?”
Peter Thomas wasn’t a stupid man. He recognized someone who knew politics better than he. “Well, yep, that does help. Thank you, Chief.” He went back to sit down with his men.
Amos decided the Chief was a smart old guy, and his lips twitched. “Well, Chief, I’ll see you in the morning, I hope.” It had been a long day, and he was anxious to pull out his sleeping roll and sleep off his nerves. Chief Bushyhead nodded, and walked off in the darkness.
Amos figured he was in for a set-down when he got back inside, so he delayed by going and getting his things off the wagon parked a bit away from the meeting house. He’d be darned if he’d play the hired hand and go get the other fellas’ stuff. They could go get their own when they were ready. There was such a thing as being too obliging. He’d walk soft and listen up, just so he’d know the lay of the land.
Just as he expected, the conversation stopped when they heard his footsteps coming back. Not surprisingly, Alex and Ben were bitchin’ about Amos stepping out of his place. Figured. Them with prestige always were fighting to keep every little scrap of it.
Preacher Thomas was the first to recover, and he smiled as he walked over and clapped Amos on the shoulder. “You done good there, Amos!” He glanced at the others in turn to shut them up. “Why, I thought for sure we’d have us a fight on our hands.”
Amos grinned, glad to have the preacher on his side, for once. “Durned if I know what I did, Preacher. Just couldn’t see fighting, when it weren’t necessary. Can’t say I blame ‘em much for not trusting us. They don’t know us. Wouldn’t want some strangers coming up to my house and demanding my kids, just on their say-so.”
“Well, now you do have a point there, Amos. Never thought of that.” Preacher Thomas looked chagrined.
“Hell and damnation, Amos! We ain’t stealing the kids. Them Injuns oughta listen to white folks. We know what’s what. We just gonna take the kids to school, same as our kids have to go.” John Kendall, previously quiet, spoke up. Preacher shot him a look for cussing, and he subsided, looking sheepish.
“We’re gonna take those kids away in the summertime, John. Your kids don’t go to school in summer. Mine sure don’t. They go in winter, when there’s no crops to work on. I’m real worried we are gonna cause these folks some trouble taking needed hands.” Amos tried a new tack, remembering the gardens and fields they’d passed.
“We can argue ‘til the cows come home. Fact is, we’re here now, not come fall. It’d be too rough travelling here then, and risking an early snow. It’s gotta be done now.” Preacher Thomas’ voice was getting rough and slurred with tiredness. “Let’s just get it done in the morning and be on our way. What’s done is done. I’m getting my stuff and going to sleep. Least they left us a fire.”
“Amos nodded and set up his bedroll near the door. Preacher Thomas was right. He’d think on this and maybe come up with something else he could do or say in the morning. The other men, grumbling, got their own bedding out of the wagon and sacked out. Before he could work out any of what had happened and what had possessed him, he was asleep.
An old man greeted them when they arrived with smiles and offers of food and drink, and led them inside one of the big buildings. Amos took some of the food and drink, just a bit, for politeness sake, but most of the fellows refused, saying they’d just eaten. The cider was good and sweet, and the funny-looking flapjacks had some corn in them. Those were pretty tasty, and filling too.