Tennessee Twilight: A Civil War Novel – Free Online Novel – Webnovel

Amanda was desperate. She was still trying to rekindle Jonathan’s adoration, but nothing she did made the slightest difference in his attitude toward her. One morning she followed him to his office after breakfast. While he worked, she talked about their future together, her hopes, and her dreams for them. She cooed and complimented, coddled and cajoled, but in the end, she fretted and pleaded. And he lost patience.

“Amanda, stop this!” he shouted. “Look at you. You’re pitiful.”

“Please, Jonathan,” she begged.

“I have told you time and time again,” he said, pronouncing every word slowly and succinctly, “there is nothing wrong between us. Stop this foolishness.”

“You once looked at me as if you valued me more than anyone else in God’s universe. Now your gaze slides right past me without so much as slowing down. What have I done to deserve that?”

“I don’t see you falling all over yourself to shower me with affection these days.”

“How can I? I never see you,” she said tearfully. “Your life is totally separate from mine. I’m living the life you’ve made for me, and it is beginning to suffocate me!”

He looked at her as if she were speaking a foreign language, and she knew he had not the slightest idea what she was saying, that she might never be able to make him understand how she felt, but she couldn’t stop trying.

“I know many women who would gladly take your place,” he shouted, “who would give almost anything to have what you have, and to live where you live. Does that mean nothing to you?”

“I don’t even have pocket money, which I always had at Hunter House. Father made sure I did.”

“You want money in your pocket? Will that make you happy? Here,” he said, reaching into the safe, “take it.” He threw several bills at her.

“I’m leaving,” she cried, picking up the money. “You’ll be sorry when something horrible happens to me.”

“Good. Go!” he shouted, waving his arm wildly in her direction, not once looking up from his paperwork.

But where can I go?

To Greeneville, she decided. She would buy a new dress. She didn’t really need one, but a new hat or dress always made her feel special, if only temporarily.

While she was looking at some new fabric at the dressmaker’s shop, Amanda overheard two women talking. They caught her attention when one of them said something about the snooty wife of that lawyer over at Armstrong Crossroads who invited everybody to a picnic.

“Of course, nobody of any social standing would ever attend such a gathering,” one of them said. “And the only people who came were the white trash who get drunk there regularly, and all their hungry relatives!” The women laughed raucously. They obviously had no idea who Amanda was, or what she looked like. They walked right past her.

“The way I hear it,” the woman continued, “she didn’t like the people who came. So, she threw everybody off the property.”

The other woman laughed so hard she almost knocked the porkpie hat off her head.

“But that’s not the worst of it,” the first woman said, in a secretive tone, “I must tell you. Some people already know, and others soon will learn, about Armstrong’s underhanded tactics in acquiring his new clients. My husband says he went behind the backs of some important attorneys hereabouts, and stole their customers right away from them.”

“No!” the other one said.

“Yes!” the first woman replied. “It’s the worst scandal we’ve had around here in years!”
* * *
By the time Amanda got back to Bluesmoke, she was hysterical. She didn’t want to believe what those women said about Jonathan, and she looked to him for reassurance. He denied the charges, but she could tell he was lying, and she couldn’t control her anger.

Her husband didn’t tolerate her fits of temper as well as her family did at Hunter House. When she screamed at him, in words that were barely discernible, he slapped her across the face quite hard. Her first reaction was to slap back. But when she raised her hand, he caught hold of her wrist, and with a twist and a flex, he broke it, as neatly as he would have broken a tea biscuit.

She lived in great pain for days. Charles finally stepped in and took her to his good friend, Dr. Jones, in Greeneville. The doctor said it was too late to do anything, and it would never heal properly and would most likely pain her for the rest of her life.

The following day, Charles took Amanda to the highest ridges beyond Bluesmoke. The Appalachian Mountains extended through northeastern Tennessee along a northeast to southwest corridor. Millions of years ago, pressures inside the earth pushed the rocky formations up, above the surface of the earth. Wind, water, and other forces of nature had rounded and eroded them. An almost endless variety of plant life thrived in the warm, wet atmosphere. The forests there emitted a rich, earthy aroma.

“Go past that pine there, up the path on the left,” Charles told her, “then straight on ahead.”

“Where am I going?” she asked.

“There’s an old Cherokee squaw lives in a hut up there. She collects herbs, roots, and medicinal plants in the forests. She’ll make a poultice or mustard plaster to take the pain out of that wrist for you.”

“Aren’t you coming with me?”

“No,” Charles said, shaking his head, “and you better never let anyone know I brought you here. Evalinda hates Indians more than she hates Negroes. When I say hate, I mean hate!”

“You can’t just leave me here,” Amanda said, on the verge of tears. “How will I get home?”

“She’ll show you. I’m sorry about all this, Amanda,” he said, his voice softening. “I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that I’m a spineless old coward. It hurts me too much to go against my family, even when I know they are wrong.”

“I’m sure it does,” she said kindly. “Thank you for telling me that.”

“Go on, now,” he told her. “There’s no danger.”

Amanda suddenly passed from a dense wood into a small clearing, just like other places she had traveled through on the way there. Directly in front of her, a sheer bluff stretched straight up to the sky. She didn’t notice the log hut that was built in front of it at first.

A gruff voice greeted her, along with an old musket that protruded from a small opening in the front door of the hut. “Get away from here,” the voice said.

Amanda stopped in her tracks. She walked backwards a few steps. “I’m sorry,” she called out. “I mean no harm.”

The muzzle of the musket disappeared. After a few moments, an Indian woman appeared in the doorway of the hut. “Come,” she said, motioning with her arm.

Amanda approached warily. “Mr. Charles brought me—you know Charles Armstrong?”

“Yes, I do,” she said. “He’s a fine man.”

A few strands of gray streaked through the squaw’s black hair, which was plaited into two braids. Large haunted eyes dominated her face, but they didn’t hide the scar that ran diagonally across it. It had been a deep cut.

“Something troubling you today?” the woman asked.

“My husband broke my wrist,” Amanda said. Then, she was suddenly embarrassed at having to tell a complete stranger that her husband had abused her. “Do you have a husband?” she asked.

“No, but I know such relationships are seldom easy.”

“It’s a lovely spot you have here,” Amanda said, looking around, “but it’s so small.”

“It suits my needs. I have a garden back there at the edge of the forest.”

“Have you thought about clearing away more of the timber?”

“Oh, I don’t own this land,” the woman replied without inflection. She pulled a snuffbox from the breast pocket of the man’s shirt she wore with leather britches. She tucked a pinch of the brown powder inside her bottom lip.

Amanda was afraid she had offended her.

“I am called Silver Plume,” the woman finally said. “Named for the gift my father gave to me on my birth day.”

“What did he give you?”

“A silver feather.”

“Oh,” said Amanda, feeling stupid.

Sit,” the woman said, motioning toward two slat-backed chairs on the narrow porch attached to the front of the hut. “We will talk.”

“Thank you,” Amanda said reverently, and waited for the Indian woman to be seated first. “My name is Amanda Armstrong.”

Amanda was suddenly awed by the woman’s presence, a feeling she couldn’t explain. It had nothing to do with the gray in her hair, nor the calmness of her demeanor. She had no reason to believe this woman was any wiser than any other person she had ever met. But maybe that was just what she felt: a profound respect for the Indian’s wisdom, suddenly wanting to know everything that lurked behind those dark eyes.

“You are a new bride?”

“Just over a year now,” Amanda answered shyly. “I have a beautiful home. I don’t know why I can’t be happy.”

“Possessions will never bring you happiness.”

Amanda didn’t know how to respond to that remark.

“No little ones yet?”

“No,” Amanda said. “Do you have children?”

“Never.” The woman volunteered nothing more.

“You have no family?” Amanda asked.

“No more,” she said, staring off into the distance. “My mother was stubborn,” she finally said. “She refused to relinquish the old Cherokee ways. I love that way of life, and I continue it here, in her honor.”

“It sounds like your mother was very strong.”

“Yes. Very. Women are revered in Cherokee society. Generations pass down from the mother’s lineage, not the father’s. My mother was the storyteller, the historian, of our clan. Once our people began to follow the ways of the whites, they lost interest in the old tales. But she taught them to me.”

“Why didn’t you go west with your people?”

“That’s a long story that I might tell you someday.”

Amanda nodded.

“Would you like to learn about the forest?” the squaw asked. “So that you can travel wherever you choose and never get lost.”

“Yes, I would. That’s exactly what I need right now—to be independent.”

“I will also teach you to protect yourself. There are evil creatures living in these mountains.”

“Bobcats?”

“No,” the woman said ominously. “Men. Evil men.”

“Please teach me,” Amanda pleaded. “I can’t be responsible for my actions if I’m forced to spend all my days with my mother-in-law,” she said dramatically, clutching at her throat and crossing her eyes.

Silver Plume smiled.

“Would you mind if I stayed here a while?” Amanda asked. “I won’t be in the way, I promise.”

“Why do you need to stay?” Silver Plume asked, a frown on her face.

“Mr. Charles asked me to. His wife would be very angry if she found out he brought me here.”

“Yes,” Silver Plume said, “I remember her. You can stay as long as you like. I have work to do in the cave if I am to make a bandage for your wrist. Come inside. Help yourself if you are hungry.”

Amanda soon learned that there was always a pot of beans or stew simmering at the edge of the fireplace in Silver’s hut, and a fresh loaf of bean bread.
* * *
Amanda arrived at Bluesmoke just as Jonathan was returning to his office after supper. He stepped out of the backdoor as she reached the porch.

“Oh, there you are,” he said. “Go tell my father and Barbé you’re home. They’ve been worried about you.”

Amanda seethed. How could he be so heartless? He denied her even the satisfaction of knowing that he was concerned for one minute during her absence. The more she pushed for his attention, the more he ignored her. It had become almost a game between them.
She was sure that Jonathan shared his mother’s feelings about the Indians, but by the time he discovered where she was spending her afternoons, she didn’t care if he knew, nor whether he approved.

The next afternoon Amanda made her first excursion with Silver Plume. It was only a rudimentary exercise, designed to teach Amanda to find her way through the forests and hills that surrounded Silver Plume’s hut, to determine where she was by remembering certain landmarks—a tree, a rock, or a creek.

Then Silver Plume began to teach her about the mountains. They tracked on foot, no horses to give away their presence. Silver moved swiftly through the forest and along rippling streams, snipping wild herbs and pulling roots as she went, poking everything she collected into a large leather pouch that she draped over her shoulder. At the end of the day, she laid out the contents of the pouch on the floor of the cave behind her hut: fruits and berries to be pickled, spiced, or dried; plants and herbs that she used to season food and to make medicines, and sassafras root for tea.

On her way home, Amanda listened to the language of the mountains: the twittering of birds, the chattering of squirrels, and the tinkle of trickling creeks. She found a spot where a little slice of sunlight peeked through the lush greenery of the trees and lay down on her back, the sun on her face, her arms and legs extended, and listened to the conversation.
* * *
When the full story of Jonathan’s devious tactics became known, it was obvious that he had been worried about his lack of business. Amanda had been right; it wasn’t going well. He had gone to every person he knew and told them he could handle their legal problems cheaper than their present counselor. He made many enemies. And it wasn’t only the lawyers he alienated. Many people in the community shunned him and Amanda.

In time, Jonathan was excused for his bad behavior, but it seemed that Amanda would never be forgiven. Jonathan was tolerated because he was Charles’s son. She was a stranger.

Jonathan soon lost most of the clients he had lured away from other attorneys. Some stayed with him. Their desire to save money outweighed their loyalty to their previous lawyers. In the end, he was left with mostly poor farmers as clients.

Charles, who was loved universally, must have been crushed by the scandal, but people continued to greet him joyously at church and at other functions in the community. Those same people looked right past Amanda, as if she didn’t exist.

She had never been treated so badly. She wasn’t sure if she could continue in her marriage. She went alone to Abingdon and talked to Mother and Father about her life at Bluesmoke. They advised her to stay with Jonathan and make the best of it. Divorcees were looked down upon, even if one partner was making the other miserable. Shortly after that trip, her father set up the trust for Amanda, making sure she would have her own money.

One morning after church, Amanda was standing by the buggy, waiting for Charles, who was talking to some local men. Jonathan was standing at the edge of the group, but wasn’t participating in the conversation.

The Widow Wilkes—that’s the only name Amanda had ever heard her called—approached Amanda in the churchyard. The woman was tall and broad-shouldered, with a plain face that was just beginning to show its age.

“Good sermon this morning,” the woman said in a strong baritone voice.

“Very fine,” Amanda said politely.

“How is Miss Eva faring these days?” the woman asked.

“As well as ever, I suppose.”

“Well, that’s too bad.” The woman laughed heartily.

“Oh—you’re about as fond of her as I am, I see,” Amanda said.

“She never did fit in down here.”

“Down here?”

“People who’ve known nothing but the wild ways of the mountains don’t usually survive well down here in the Valley. She was very backward, and hardly ever spoke, when Mr. Charles brought her here as his bride.”

“She still rarely speaks,” Amanda said.

“Mr. Charles happened upon her on a hunting trip, the story goes. I’ve always thought that was the attraction—he got to show her a whole new world. It seemed that the spell wore off after a few years, but to his credit, he is living out his commitment to her. She cemented her place in his life when she gave birth to Jonathan. He adores that boy, I’m sorry to say.”

“Why do you say that?” Amanda asked.

“Jonathan’s taken advantage of his father at every turn, and has run his good name into the mire with each new so-called moneymaking venture. He’ll put him in the poor house yet.”

“Really?” Amanda was having a hard time believing what this woman was saying.

“I hear he’s spending money faster than Mr. Charles can make it. A man his age shouldn’t have to work as hard as he does. He should be enjoying the fruits of his labor, not still supporting his son. If you think you’ve grabbed onto a rich one, honey, you are sorely mistaken. Once Mr. Charles is gone, there’ll be nothing left but the house and the land.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true,” Amanda stammered. “He’s doing much better with his law practice—or he was until those rumors came out.”

“See what I’m saying?” The woman put her head close to Amanda’s and whispered,

“You’re a joke to all the people around here. I shouldn’t tell you this, but I know what it’s like to be a pariah.”

“A pariah?”

“I’m looked down upon, because of me and Mr. Charles,” the woman said secretively.

When Amanda just stared at her, she said, “You didn’t know?”

“What?”

“Charles Armstrong and I are keeping company,” she said discreetly.

“You and Charles are—”

“Yes,” the woman said, nodding. “Lovers. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Well, no,” Amanda said, “but I didn’t think Charles was the kind of man—”

“That’d be unfaithful?”

“Well, yes,” Amanda stammered.

“How do you think he’s stayed with Eva all these years? Did she expect him to be celibate for the rest of his life? The man is a saint.”

Amanda didn’t respond. She stared at Charles and Jonathan, willing them to come rescue her from this creature.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said, softening her voice. “I shouldn’t have spoken so plain, but everyone knows that Eva was so traumatized by the pain of Jonathan’s birth that she never allowed him to touch her again.”

“What did you say?”

“Charles and I are lovers,” the woman said, becoming agitated.

“What did you say before? About me being a joke?”

“This’ll upset you, but you have a right to know.”

“What, for Heaven’s sake?”

“Everybody thinks you’re a big flirt.”

“Everybody flirts, don’t they?”

“Not here, they don’t,” the Widow Wilkes warned. “Women look at you crosswise if you so much as say ‘good morning’ to their husbands. Especially me, since I been a widow all these years.”

“They’re coming,” Amanda whispered to the woman. “Nice talking to you,” Amanda said, loud enough for Charles and Jonathan to hear.

“And how are you today, Mrs. Wilkes?” Charles asked graciously, tipping his hat.

“As good as ever, Mr. Charles,” she responded. When she looked at Charles, her whole face softened.

“God grant that it will always be so,” he said graciously. He climbed up into the buggy, and they were off.

Amanda looked back at the woman. She stood exactly where they had left her, with one gloved hand raised in farewell.

Chapter 4 << – Index – >> Chapter 6