Episode 6

Phee was not certain how she should answer her aunt. She decided to keep her face a blank and say nothing. She did not want her aunt to catch on just how much she did, in fact, understand.

“Aunt Eugenia, I need some water if I am to continue. And I most certainly intend to keep going! I shall get you some, too.”

Phee found two cups upon the shelf Miss Eugenia kept for drinking utensils, just above the wash basin. To the side, on the floor, was a gallon jug her father filled about every other day. The dowager drank copious amounts of tea and water resulting in certain needs. Fortunately, a commode was kept in her room.

“Miss Ophelia, kindly help me up and over to there,” she said, pointing to the commode chair. “And then, please, pretend you do not see or hear anything. Or smell, either. If I am there long enough, you might as well continue reading.”

Phee giggled as she assisted her aunt.

“Niece, I appreciate this more than you can guess. On the one hand, when Miss Martin comes in for this purpose, nothing need be said. She has long cared for the elderly and infirm, and now that I am among their ranks, she proceeds with me as though attending to my necessaries is as commonplace as drawing the curtains. Still, there is nothing better than having a female relative when you are sliding down that hill toward oblivion.”

Phee considered whether her aunt was expecting a response. A denial there was a downward slide, perhaps. But she was anxious to read and did not wish to engage Miss Eugenia in conversation. She cleared her throat, turned away from the indisposed auntie, and continued.

Toward the beginning of the cotton harvest, I received a note from Mrs. McQueen. She invited our family to a “Green Corn Thanksgiving.” On 28 October  I therefore went to a marvelous feast, the rest of the family begging off for various reasons. A carriage came to fetch me.

The weather was favorable to be outside without discomfort. They set tables and blankets around the home, and there was a large tent erected. Servants led us to a long table next to where they brought the food. 

Chief Half-Moon was near the center, flanked by both wives. Men who appeared prominent, given their dress and manners, sat across from him. I hoped to remain next to Zora as I did not know anyone else there. Fortune was in my favor.

It was intriguing to see what the chief and his wives wore. Calming-Waters was in full Native dress, adorned with bracelets and necklaces. Zora’s outfit included a striking blue top embellished with lace. Silver and turquoise necklaces and bracelets set off the ensemble. Her skirt was a brown deerskin which fell to her ankles. Occasionally, she moved her skirts in such a way as to reveal she wore knee-high boots. I considered her garb to be a perfect blend for the two holidays.

The chief had donned matching brown deerskin tunic and pants, with a cream-colored shirt and ascot showing beneath the tunic. Atop those was a quilted black silk jacket adorned by bright blue embroidery meant to display the firmament. There were stars, and, of course, a half-moon.

During my conversation with Zora, I wondered aloud about the chief’s name.

“Oh,” she smiled. “Is it not obvious? He is of mixed breed, between two worlds, seeming on the verge of waxing into one while waning from the other. My husband will never give up his heritage but will bring his people toward another way of living. This will ensure they stay in peace on their land.”

It had not, in fact, been obvious to me. The conversation enlightened me. I have spent little effort thinking of him as a leader of his people. My mind has been elsewhere regarding him.

“Was he brought up within a tribe, or in the White world?” I hoped to learn but not intrude. I fear my face quickly turned pinkish.

“Do not worry, I shall let you know if ever you offend. Your questions are natural ones,” she said to my astonishment. She again knew my mind. “To answer, his mother’s clan raised him.”

This confused me. How was he half-White?

Seeing my frown, she explained.

“His father was Angus McQueen, a trader and merchant with extensive businesses from here to Tennessee. Before the Creek and Cherokee ceded vast quantities of lands, he desired to merge his holdings by advantageous marriage.”

I had heard of such unions, but I did not understand them. Zora explained further.

“My husband’s mother was well-positioned, being the daughter of a Creek chief and the granddaughter of one who was Cherokee. Several White men sought her hand, as did many of the Five Nations. But Angus brought with him a quantity of arms with the promise of much more. He also was a man whose presence was impressive.”

Zora leaned forward so she could see her husband’s face, at least from the side.

“Mr. McQueen got his enchanting blue eyes from his father.” She looked at her husband lovingly. “And his height.”

She sat back and turned to me and added, softly, “His kindness and caring for his people came from his mother. I am sorry I did not meet her.”

Someone brought me a piece of apple pie. It was an excellent time to eat, watch, and listen. A small girl ran to Zora and hugged her legs. The child’s blond hair told me she likely was a daughter. A Creek woman carried an infant to her; he appeared about a year old. She took the baby in her left arm and held out her right hand to the girl. She invited me to go inside where it was quiet, and we could talk further.

We settled in an upstairs bedroom where there was a rocking chair for Zora and the baby and a straight chair for me. The girl, whom she called Ann, wandered out of the room and down the stairs.

“I did not realize you had children,” I said.

“I married when I was sixteen,” she replied, again answering the question I had wanted to ask. “Ann was born on my seventeenth birthday, and little Zachary here was born two years later.” She settled into a rhythm of nursing and rocking. “Calming-Waters was betrothed to my husband when he was eighteen and I was fifteen. He left school in Pennsylvania the summer before his final year to marry her here in the Creek Nation, and then he returned to me.”

She smiled up at me, noting my quizzical look. “You would not get far in negotiating. Your face shows your emotions so easily.” She shifted Zachary from one arm to the other.

“The Presbyterians thought it a fine idea to hold a little reception each Sunday, and they encouraged young ladies to mingle with the Indian and foreign students so the ‘outsiders’ would feel welcome. My father thought this was a good idea, too. I think he now regrets it…

 Stirling’s father required that he finish his schooling. He was behind in his studies if he were to continue on to Yale. He married, studied another month in Philadelphia, but then declared he needed no more education. By then, I was deeply in love with him.”

Zora sang to the child, rocking him to sleep. She called to the Creek woman who took the baby and left the chamber.

“Since you seem to still be interested, shall I continue?” She appeared tired. I told her perhaps another time, but she began again, saying it was all right. She just needed a rest. “I observed how Stirling honored his mother by entering a marriage arranged for him, and I saw how well he cared for his wife. He is a man worthy of great love, and it became my mission to convince him I could give that to him.”

As she was telling me this last part, she tried to rise, but fell back in the chair. “I am so sorry…” she whispered as she closed her eyes and went limp.”

It occurred to Phee she had not heard a sound from her aunt during her reading. She admitted to herself she was completely absorbed in the story and forgot to pause and check.

“Aunt Eugenia? May I help you back to bed? Or perhaps to a chair.”

No answer. Phee took only a short moment before she turned around. Her aunt was slumped back into the seat of the commode.

“Just like Zora!” she exclaimed, hoping to elicit a tart response. “Oh, auntie, did you fall asleep again?”

The only sound greeting her was the ticking of the mantle clock.