Sharyn McCrumb - Lovely In Her Bones

“Makes the time pass more pleasant-like when you do,” Amelanchier agreed.

“I don’t think it will this time, Amelanchier, but it’s got to be done. Just remember, I’m here to help you.”

“And I’m grateful to you,” said the Wise Woman cheerfully. “Sure is a raft of these bags to tie.”

“No, I mean about saving the valley. I don’t want the Cullowhees to lose it to the strip miners. Especially after what I’ve heard about what your people have been through already. It wouldn’t be fair!”

Amelanchier nodded and went on stuffing plastic bags.

“You have to confess to the murders, Amelanchier,” said Elizabeth quietly. “And we have to come up with some excuse for why you did it, because if the truth comes out, you’ll lose the valley!”

“What truth is that?”

“The Cullowhees aren’t Indians.”

Amelanchier smiled. “Why, sure we are girl. It’s like I told you: we’re descended from the Unakas-”

“Yes! And unaka is the Cherokee word for white man! Now who are you really?”

Amelanchier wiped her hands on her apron. “Well,” she sighed, “I think you said something about saving the valley. Why don’t I brew us some tea and we’ll study about it?”

She drew out earthenware mugs and plastic spoons. “Now how can you tell what people is?” she asked as she worked. “That word don’t prove nothing.”

“You know how I can tell. I explained it to you the first time I came up here. I told you all about the skull measurements, and how different races show up as different numbers on the chart.”

“I thought the doctor was the only one could say for sure.”

“Dr. Lerche could tell just by looking at a skull. The rest of us don’t have his experience, so we have to plod along with charts, but we’ll get there. I did the measurements twice, and they don’t match the rest of the chart. When Milo checks my work and sees that I did it right, he’ll know, too. Then the secret will be out, and we don’t want that.”

“What about saving the valley?”

“If the investigation continues, the secret will come out. But if you confess, and if I fake the report, then everyone will get the answers they want, and that will be the end of it.”

“So we both tell lies?” smiled Amelanchier.

“Yes. Except for the fact that you killed Dr. Lerche and Victor. That’s true.”

The old woman looked as if she was going to deny it, but suddenly she sighed wearily and asked, “How come you to know?”

“Because it’s my fault!” said Elizabeth, close to tears. “I realized that it couldn’t have been Comfrey, because if he had known that the Cullowhees weren’t Indians, he wouldn’t have come asking for scientific proof. And you knew all about this project from me. You even knew that Victor was allergic to bees, because I told you! I even told you that he bragged about knowing who killed Alex, but I forgot to tell you what a liar he was! I don’t think he knew anything, really.”

“Well, I couldn’t take the chance. My people have had it too hard to risk losing everything to some no-account college boy. I reckon you want your tea sweet, don’t you? It’ll have to be honey. I don’t keep the white sugar. It’ll do you in.”

Elizabeth picked up her steaming mug and took a sip. It still tasted bitter, even with honey in it. “Who are you really? Does anybody know?”

“Only me. I’m the oldest one alive, so I remember when folks knew. My grandfather still had the whip scars on his back.”

“You were slaves then? Run away from plantations?”

“Sold from the plantations,” said Amelanchier in a steady voice. “Run away from the Cherokees.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened. “The Cherokees? That’s impossible! They were an Indian tribe.”

“I reckon you think Indians is somebody who lives in a tepee and wears war paint and feathers,” Amelanchier snorted. “Well, I can’t speak for the ones out west, but I’m here to tell you that them Cherokees turned white faster than ash wood in a bonfire.”

“They owned slaves?”

“Yes, ma’am, and had big old farms to work ’em on. Took white last names, and got religion around 1800. Started intermarrying with the whites, too. I reckon they figured that if they got civilized, the white folks would let ’em be.”

“Did it work?” Elizabeth was hazy on Appalachian history, which wasn’t taught until fall semester.

“It did not. The Cherokee nation was good land, timber and gold, and good acres for farming. About 1830, when the settlers started running out of room on the coast, they commenced nagging the government to get the Indians off the good land, move ’em farther west.”

“The Trail of Tears,” whispered Elizabeth, suddenly remembering.

“Yep. Kicked right out, just like they want to do to us. All except five hundred who hid in the hills. It’s their descendants who have the Cherokee reservation today.”

“And were the slaves freed when the Indians were forced to move?”

“No, they were moved right on out with the cattle. But my people didn’t go. They run off and came back to the hills. Been here ever since. Most of ’em was half-breeds, mixed black and white.”

“And Indian?”

“I don’t believe so. They used to say that the Indians gave fifty lashes to any of their tribe who married a slave.”

“But why did you claim to be Indian?” asked Elizabeth, shuddering as she sipped her tea.

“Because between 1830 and very recently, being anything else was not healthy around here. If they’d said they were black, they could’a been took back in slavery till the War between the States, and even after that they was worse off than the Indians. At least we never had no lynchings to worry about.”

“But everyone knew you weren’t really Indian?”

Amelanchier nodded. “It was my gran’daddy, the Wise Man, who changed that. When I was a little bitty girl, he told folks that the best way to keep a secret is not to tell it out, so from then on, the children were told they was real Indians. When I go, the truth goes with me; I never told a one of my young’uns any different. I never knowed you could tell from the bones of the dead.”

“Not until I told you,” said Elizabeth. She mustn’t think about that now; she mustn’t! “I don’t want your people to lose the land. It isn’t fair.”

“I wish Comfrey would have told me before he asked you’uns to come here. But he thinks I’m an old woman who don’t know nothing but plants.”

“It can’t be helped,” said Elizabeth briskly. She wondered how much time they had before Jake found her. “We have to figure out some reason other than the truth for you to have killed them! How about this: you killed them because you didn’t want the bones of your relatives disturbed by irreverent white scientists?”

“I was thinking of that myself,” said Amelanchier. “More tea?”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN she’s gone?” Milo demanded. “Did she leave a note?”

“No. I thought she must have gone down to the creek or something, but I’ve called and she doesn’t answer.”

“Have you checked the site?” asked Milo. He couldn’t think of any reason for her to go there, but it was the only possibility that occurred to him.

“No. Shall we go out there now?”

“In a minute. Comfrey Stecoah is coming along. What happened here that would make Elizabeth leave? What did the deputy want?”

“He found out I’m a Cherokee, and he wanted to see if he could scare me into a confession. On account of the tomahawk.”

Milo considered this piece of information. “Was Elizabeth frightened?” he asked finally.

“If you mean, did she think I was going to scalp her, I don’t think so.”