Authors: Kathryn Long
"We have no proof …" Daniel began.
"That they’re more than accidents?" Emma interrupted. "Dadburned prejudice is what it is. Hate and prejudice. That’s the only proof I need to know why and even who, for all that matters."
"Miss Emma," Daniel spoke kindly. "I appreciate your loyalty and spirited support for all of us. But I find it difficult to believe anyone would do these things just out of spite and hatred. I mean, it just doesn’t happen like that anymore."
"The land, Daniel," she stated, as if those words explained everything.
"Miss Emma?" He looked puzzled.
"Since my great grandfather crossed into Oklahoma along with the thousands of white settlers, well, the land means power and wealth, son. We’ve been covetin’ it ever since."
"You mean to say, you think they, whoever they are, want the Indians’ land?" he asked, a look of skepticism on his face.
"They’re hopin’ to scare them off so they can get the land," she concluded smugly.
"That’s, that’s—Oh, Miss Emma. Excuse me, ma’am, but that’s plum crazy."
Emma sat up straight in her chair and cocked her head to one side. "Like it or not, that’s what I’m sayin’. Unless you got another explanation?"
Daniel plopped down on the steps looking dazed. He was just getting ready to speak again when Cora came through the door.
"Sunday dinner’s ready, Miss Emma," she announced.
"Great! I’m starving!" Deek exclaimed and jumped to his feet.
"Well, then. I reckon we should go eat," Emma nodded and slowly rose from the rocker.
Jess noticed how tired the woman suddenly appeared. She was just thinking how much she admired her qualities. How generous she was to offer them her home. How faithful she’d been, staying by Uncle Fred’s bedside. That much she was sure of.
It was Emma’s conjecture that puzzled Jess. Just as Daniel said, it seemed to be a bit extreme to pull these stunts to gain land. She wondered what the sheriff had to say about it. And who exactly did Emma think was responsible? Did she think Uncle Fred’s attack was connected somehow? But those questions would have to wait. Daniel was right. All this excitement was hard on Emma. She could see that in the elderly woman’s face. She’d talk to Daniel later. Maybe he’d answer her questions. Or maybe not.
Chapter 12
The evening air had cooled the sweltering ninety-degree heat of this afternoon. A blue jay chirped in its typically sharp tone. As Jess leaned against the redbud tree, she gazed out at the silhouette of mountains in the west.
"Those are the Wichita Mountains," Daniel informed her.
"I’d like to go see them sometime." She looked up at Daniel, then gestured around her. "I guess all this flat land will take me some getting used to."
"Don’t worry," he grinned. "We have plenty of mountains and hills as well as the plains. Heck, we even have a plateau!"
She laughed. "Well, Mr. Tour Guide, I look forward to you showing me all there is to see."
His face grew serious and his voice soft, "And I look forward to it, also."
For a few seconds, neither one said a word. Jess finally took a deep breath and spoke. "I haven’t told you yet why I wanted us to take this walk."
"I didn’t know we needed a reason," he answered, still speaking in that soft tone.
He was gazing at her so intently that Jess blushed. She was relieved that the darkness of night had come to disguise her discomfort. "No, but I do have a reason." She continued by asking him a direct question, "Why don’t you agree with Miss Emma?"
He looked surprised. "You mean about the accidents?"
"Or whatever they are."
"Oh, not you, too," he sighed. "They are accidents. Nothing more."
"But you have to admit it’s kind of peculiar. I mean, there have been so many."
"All right, Sherlock. Let’s look at this rationally. If these incidents have been deliberate, why would anyone in this day and age do such things, and why would they think they could get away with it?"
"Well, how else are they going to get land from people who don’t want to sell and at a reasonable price? Short of murder, that is," she asked.
"Murder? Jess, you must read too many detective novels."
"No. I’m just looking at it rationally, like you said." She smiled.
"But this isn’t rational, and I’ll tell you why it doesn’t work," he explained. "This land we’re talking about is not worth much except to the people who live on it. This land usually yields poor crops. The grass is so sparse, cattle don’t get much of a meal." He shrugged his shoulders. "So, now, who would go to all that trouble to get something practically worthless?"
"Why do the Indians stay here then?" she asked.
"Because it’s their home. It’s history. It’s heritage. I guess maybe you’d have to be Indian to understand." He then looked away from her to glance at the mountains. "All the Indian tribes in this state once lived somewhere else. Many were driven from their land to come here. Many died trying."
"What about the Cherokee?" Jess asked.
"Oh, my people even have a name for their journey. They called it the Trail of Tears. Isn’t that poetic?" He laughed bitterly. "It was anything but poetry. More than half of the many thousands who traveled that year froze to death during one of the worst winters in history."
"I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize." Jess reached out to place her hand on Daniel’s shoulder.
He covered her hand with his. "These people respected the land. They borrowed what nature had to offer, not seeking to possess it. It was the whites who taught us that land was something to own."
"I think I understand. The Indians consider living on the land kind of like a privilege, right?"
"Yes. And this land is more precious and valuable than anything life has to offer … like gold."
"Okay, Daniel." Jess came back to her original question. "So, what is it? That many accidents can’t be overlooked. What has the sheriff found out?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing? What do you mean nothing?"
"No one has gone to the authorities to complain," he explained.
"But why not?"
"Distrust. Independence. Wanting to take care of their own problems. Who knows?" he shrugged. "Besides, everything that’s happened could be caused by nature. The fires, polluted water, and the cattle. They die of disease all the time."
"What about the attack on Uncle Fred?" she asked.
Daniel looked at Jess sharply and scowled. "What’s that got to do with this?"
"But what if it did? Then the human factor could be a possible cause," she suggested.
Daniel held his arms up and shook his head, "Oh, no, no, no. We’re not going there."
"Daniel," she pleaded. "Someone beat up Uncle Fred, and Miss Emma doesn’t seem to think it was that Joseph Whitedeer."
"Oh. So now, Miss Emma is the authority and expert, the J. Edgar Hoover of investigative powers. Is that it?"
"Well, I …"
"Listen here. You don’t even know all the facts. So don’t start jumping to conclusions and all," he warned her.
Jess stiffened a little and backed away from Daniel. "Well, excuse me for butting in." She turned quickly and stomped off toward the house.
"Women," Daniel grumbled, then slowly he walked to the bunkhouse.
"My crops are ruined. Half my livestock is sick from drinking the water. If anything else happens, how will I feed my family?" Tom Stillwater threw up his arms in frustration.
"Yes!" Someone else in the crowd shouted. "How will any of us survive this?"
Everyone in the room began to talk in hushed, nervous chatter. Many Indian farmers and ranchers had gathered for the meeting called by Charlie Stillwater. Tom was his brother and had suffered more than most of them. Charlie had felt it was time to unite. The look in his son’s eyes the night of the rattlesnakes told him this. It was a sign.
"People!" Charlie shouted in order to quiet everyone. "It is time to do something to fight whatever is causing out grief. Right?"
Most of those in the room cried out in agreement as they raised their fists. Only Daniel sat quietly at the back of the room, his arms crossed over his chest and his brow wrinkled with serious concern. "And just what or whom are we to fight?" he asked in a soft, matter-of-fact tone.
The room fell under an uncomfortable silence that lasted nearly a minute, until Daniel’s brother-in-law spoke up. "Well, I guess that’s part of what we’re here to discuss, Daniel." As if these words were a signal, the room buzzed again with conversation.
Daniel shook his head and thought about the futility of the situation. How can you fight nature, if nature is the culprit? And if it is man, where is the proof? They had no witnesses, no solid evidence to incriminate anyone. It seemed they were back to square one. The only progress they’d made was in uniting everyone. That, at least, was comforting, Daniel admitted.
"Maybe Daniel is on the right path." The voice came from the middle of the crowd toward the front, so that Daniel had to strain his neck to see the person speaking, but then the man stood up. It was Jorgé Trenta. He lived on the other side of the Washita River with his Choctaw wife, Lillie and their five children.
"What do you mean, Jorgé?" asked Charlie.
"I mean, if we don’t know who or what to fight,
mis amigos
, we should choose another way."
"What other way?"
"Yeah. What?"
Jorgé held up his hand to stop their talk. "I’m getting to that." He cleared his throat.
It was as if he were nervous to speak, Daniel noticed. Or maybe he was pausing to get full attention from his audience. Whichever, it was definitely an entertaining show.
"Perhaps we should consider getting out while we still can walk away." He paused, waiting for their reaction which didn’t come immediately. Then within seconds, the noise was deafening, with some talking calmly, others shouting.
"Are you suggesting, Señor Trenta, that we sell out, that we run away?" Charlie demanded.