Red Feather

By Leah Y. Stimpson

How will a young family in 1830s Alabama break free from their societys prevailing beliefs? Do individuals really have the power to change the direction in which their society is moving? Can love transcend the boundaries we draw around our lives? Red Feather tackles these questions and more while illustrating powerful spiritual truths that are every bit as true today as they were over a hundred years ago. As Leah Stimpsons story winds through backwoods swamps, elegant port towns, and stormy Gulf waters, she illuminates exactly how the people of our not-so-distant past were able to choose Gods light over mans desire for darkness. By learning from them, we just might be able to do the same.

Endorsement

Red Feather captured my imagination from the beginning. I felt like one of the children sitting on the couch absorbed in Red Feather and Samuels innocent, beautiful romance-a story that demonstrates a higher truth of a far deeper love. It is as if Leah jumped into that great river of inspiration and let the current take her. -Stephanie B. Morris, portrait artist in Mobile, Alabama

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Mar 19, 2014
• ISBN: 9781490817750

Leah Y. Stimpson

For over three decades, Leah Stimpson has enjoyed exploring a place in Clarke County, Alabama, where the land has witnessed, and still holds stories of people whose lives were culturally different, yet fundamentally similar to ours today -stories of courageous American pioneers, resourceful Native Americans, and of the trials of African men and women forcefully brought to this land. Leah has watched and listened to an older generation tell stories of the river, the highway used by the Native Americans, cotton barons, and Confederate and Union forces. While viewing a section of the Alabama River from her porch, Leah has spent years absorbing the stories recorded in the Clarke County Historical Society’s Quarterlies. These accounts have brought to life the people of the 1800s and have personally introduced her to many of their lives. People who struggled under oppression, others who carved a place in the wilderness for future generations, and some who were forced to leave their homeland-the circumstances vary greatly, but the common threads of all humanity prevail-stories of love, of failure, of grief, and of joy. What were their personal stories and why were their lives so different? What have we learned from the past that we should apply to our lives today? What was their purpose here, and more importantly, what is ours? With her three children grown, she has found the time to search for these answers. Red Feather takes us on a journey in the 1830s and reveals in a classic love story the answers found to these complex questions. Leah and her husband, Richard, spend time on the Alabama River in Clarke County and have enjoyed studying its history and encountering the compelling lives of those who have inhabited the land. Treasures and clues are still being uncovered-arrowheads and pottery, pieces of iron from a Civil War era blacksmith’s shop, and an old map labeled “Red Feather’s canoe route,” found in a grandfather’s attic. All are clues about the lives of those who have gone before us, clues left for us discover. Now, only one question remains: What will we do with what we have learned from the past to honorably influence our time in history?

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Copyright © 2014 Leah Y. Stimpson.

Cover by Stephanie B. Morris, portrait artist in Mobile, AL

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-4908-1776-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-1777-4 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4908-1775-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013921627

WestBow Press rev. date: 4/10/2014

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Epilogue

1837 Hurricane Probable Path of Destruction

Historical Timeline

Acknowledgements

Bibliography

Endnotes

To My Children

Chapter

1

D anna rises from her parlor chair and moves slowly across the room. She reaches into her side pocket and pulls out a small brass key. My sisters and I shift to the edge of the sofa, eyeing her every move. She leans down toward the eighteenth-century container and runs her hand over the wavy Englis h oak.

Girls, I wish your momma was here with us now; she would be so proud of the three of you.

Looking in our direction with eyes aged and full of wisdom, Danna continues. I have something to show you. Your father and I believe you are old enough to appreciate its importance and value.

Danna speaks carefully with a penetrating look cast our way. Turning toward our father, she says, James, it would have given Louisa great joy … But she pauses without finishing her sentence. Instead, she moves her hand, slides back a panel on the old Bible box, and reveals a drawer with an oddly shaped keyhole.

My sisters and I sit still, curious about the seriousness of the moment. Danna turns the brass key in the opening while simultaneously pulling out what looks like a wooden safety deposit box.

After fifteen years of sitting by, playing around, and walking past the Bible box, none of us has given a thought as to what it contains. Believe me, my sisters and I would have taken it apart and examined it thoroughly long ago had anyone hinted there were treasures inside. Danna pulls the entire drawer out and opens the top. Three items lay inside, covered in dust and wrapped in mystery.

Wiping off the first item, Danna hands it to me—a tattered leather binder. Red Feather 1856 is scrawled in fading ink on the inside cover. The first two pages are missing, torn from the flaking binding long ago. Old and beautiful script fills the pages that still remain, all tightly wound loops and calculated curls that were created when handwriting was a work of art—and our only option. The bumpy leather is peeled around the edges, revealing paper underneath. The musty scent of age and history rises from the binder and settles in the air around us, blanketing the room with the heaviness of knowledge.

Danna, who wrote this? I ask.

She holds a hand up and glances at me with eyes that say Patience, before she produces two more items that she passes to my sisters Mary Louise and Julia.

I am the middle sister sitting in the middle of the Victorian sofa in Danna’s parlor in Marion, Alabama. It is 1979.

My grandmother Danna is a lovely eighty-year-old southern lady, the matriarch of our family. One is tempted to call her a Southern belle, a term that indeed describes her genteel manner but falls short of doing justice to her unwavering strength of character and discerning heart. Her child, my momma, battled cancer for several years, defying the prognosis of those at the Mayo Clinic by living four years beyond their predicted six months. Typical of Momma’s determination, we continued traveling to visit my grandmother until it was just too difficult for Momma to go. Danna visits us as often as she can, but after Momma died, the trips have become hard for all of us to make.

For many reasons, my sisters and I have loved visiting our grandparents Danna and Dandaddy. With Momma being their only child, we have been their everything—or so we thought.

When we were younger, Danna and Dandaddy lived in York, Alabama, where we spent two weeks each summer. Their home was on top of a steep hill that led to a beautiful vegetable and fruit garden. The property, a three-acre lot, seemed humongous, as my younger sister would say in the way little children do when they discover a new word. During our yearly drive up from Mobile, we told stories about our last two-week trip and wondered if our current visit would again be mentioned in the Sumter County Herald, as was the custom of small towns in those days.

Mr. and Mrs. J. P. Robin’s daughter, Louisa, and her family will be visiting our town this week. John Patrick and Lila are delighted to have Louisa, James, and their three daughters Mary Louise, Ruth, and Julia.

Summer days spent in York are treasured memories. Everyone, and I do mean everyone, treated us royally, as only small towns can do. We walked up to Mr. McCormick’s filling station for orange sherbet push-up pops and on to the soda fountain in the York pharmacy, feeling like celebrities visiting from the big city. We drove Dandaddy’s three on the tree, a 1958 Chevy truck that he repainted with the color of our choice every few years. On fishing days, we’d wake at four thirty a.m. to travel US 11 toward Livingston and Mr. Story’s lake. Once, returning from a prosperous fishing trip, my older sister and I noticed that the aluminum boat had fallen out of the back of the truck. With the windows down and Dandaddy being extremely hard of hearing, it took a mile or so for him to understand what we were trying to tell him. The fish were lost, but the story has been fun to tell.

Life seemed simple in York. People worked hard, prayed hard, and took care of one another. Everyone got along, even through the occasional disagreements.

Meat, fish, and vegetables were shared by all, and people were generally content. Every workday, my grandfather came home for a big dinner in the middle of the day, and the whole town closed on Wednesdays. There was time for rest, time to visit with neighbors, and most importantly, time to learn from one another. My grandmother taught us how to bake, knit, and crochet. My grandfather taught us how to tend a garden and dig worms for bait. My grandmother played the organ at the Methodist church, and my grandfather sang in the choir. We walked to church for Vacation Bible School and pretty much walked everywhere else we went. Several times in Dandaddy’s later years, he drove to town, forgot he had driven, and walked home.

Dandaddy owned the general store in town. It was no Camelot, but it was our Narnia, where we created grand adventures with ordinary items. Our favorite place to play was on the mountain of feed sacks in the storage room, which easily became a stagecoach racing through Indian territory. The railroad tracks ran close to the store; each time a train passed by, my sisters and I raced out to count the cars and dreamed about the destination of the speeding bullet as it flew through the still, quiet town of York.

Today, however, we traveled without Momma to Marion, Alabama, where Danna lives by herself in a house full of memories. After Dandaddy died, she moved back to Marion to live in her family’s home on Lafayette Street. This was the home of her childhood. The house remains as it was when my great-grandparents occupied it. I can close my eyes and picture the front parlor with my great-grandmother playing the old organ by candlelight. My grandmother dressed for a formal dance at Marion Military Institute with her dance card ready to be filled. My great-grandfather coming in from his dental practice and being greeted formally by everyone in the house—I can imagine it all.

The old Bible box is under the portrait of my great-grandmother Ma Ma on the wall opposite of the organ. Her chair is next to a beautiful commode that has graduated from its former purpose. It is made of inlaid mahogany and no longer houses a chamber pot. My great-grandfather’s chair is positioned on its other side. Daddy is the only one who ever sits in it-an unwritten, unspoken rule of the household. The Victorian-style sofa across the room is reserved for my sisters and me, and previously for Momma. She never passed up the opportunity to nestle in next to us and visit, even with the sofa’s hard cushion and general lack of comfort.

This trip to Danna’s house is our third without Momma. The pain of our loss continues, intensified by the memories of past trips. We are incurably homesick for Momma and long for her to simply walk into the room. Everyone tries to be strong for the others as we mask our grief and suffering to a fault. Daddy, of course, sees right through us and before our visit arranges for Danna to share a family story with us, one he hopes will reveal much about our momma and the motives behind her passions in life. The account will connect us with Momma, her legacy, and our heritage, which unmistakably defines who we are today. Daddy hopes that awakening the past may help heal the present and forge our future.

After greeting Danna when we first arrive, my sisters and I go to the cake plate, as tradition requires seeing what Danna has baked for our visit. Even at ages seventeen, fifteen, and ten, our childlike traditions seem important to us, though we go through the motions with rather numb emotions. We take long enough cutting our pieces of cake to give Daddy and Danna time to talk before we walk back into the parlor, cake in hand. An unwelcome heaviness hangs over the room, leaving us with a familiar feeling of dread. After hearing about Momma’s deteriorating condition for four years, we have become acutely aware of impending bad news. What are they about to tell us now? we all think.

Before inviting us to make ourselves comfortable, Danna asks me to run back to her bedroom, look in her jewelry box on the dressing table, and bring her the brass key that is buried beneath everything else. When I return, Danna continues to visit, asking her usual questions while our attention shifts to the key she has quietly slipped into her side pocket.

Chapter

2

F inally, our anticipation is met with the three objects from the Bible box we now hold in our hands. Danna sits down in her chair and surve ys us.

Girls, she says in a purposeful, almost intense tone, a tone we quickly respond to with our undivided attention. The items you are holding are family treasures that evidence the lives of those who have gone before us.

Danna pauses. Seconds pass, ticking in my head like the metronome on her piano. Awkward but bold moments—one Mississippi, two Mississippi—I count by the rhythm of her breathing. The heaviness of silence falls in the room, weightier than words, muting all distractions. Her eyes lock with each of ours during the moments that pass. I hold tightly to the frayed binding in my hands, quietly waiting.

Finally, but ever so slowly, she speaks again, choosing each word carefully, My dear girls, the legacies of our ancestors reveal to us their lives’ purposes, which directly influence our lives, and could easily impact your destinies. These items you hold will help tell their stories and the compelling forces that led each of them on their life’s journey.

We hang on to her every word like anxious children awaiting the next clue in a treasure hunt.

Danna begins by describing a time in history that reveals the circumstances surrounding the story she will tell-a story that decisively impacts the course of my life.

"In the mid 1600s, one of your ancestors, Armiger Wade, came to America from Hampstead, England. He is recorded as being in the Virginia House of Burgesses from Charles Parish York County, Virginia, in 1656. For the next two hundred years our family members were prominent, God-fearing Virginians. Your great-great-great-grandmother Elizabeth Wade was no exception. Elizabeth, or Eliza, as she was called, lived in the early 1800s and was one of three children, having an older brother and a younger sister. Eliza’s family was well respected in Richmond and held several different business interests. In fact, Eliza’s grandfather helped establish one of the first US commercial banks, the Bank of Richmond, in 1792.

"Eliza was a beautiful young lady, revered and esteemed in Richmond society by many young gentlemen, yet she fell in love and married an adventurous young man named John Hawthorne. John had a sparkle in his eye for opportunity and a daring, bold personality. He was taken by Eliza’s confident yet kind manner, while Eliza admired John’s free spirit. Before long, they married and had two sons, three years apart. John tried his best to settle into the Wade family’s Richmond lifestyle, but he grew increasingly anxious as he heard about all of the territory begging to be explored in this young nation. John knew of opportunities to own land in the southern coastal region and had read about its fertile soil, particularly in the newly established state of Alabama. Eliza saw her husband’s longing to move their family south, but she feared the serious Indian threats she knew existed in the area. The relationship, or lack thereof, between settlers and the native tribes was growing increasingly volatile, and Eliza sensed that danger would accompany such a venture. Eventually, however, John’s unhappiness became a greater concern to Eliza than her own fear. Seeing the futility in his efforts to embrace the status quo of Richmond, Eliza relented and actually encouraged John to seek his dream by moving their family south to Alabama. She decided the happiness that came from taking risks with her husband outweighed the contentment that came from mere comfort.

At age seventeen, John and Eliza’s eldest son, Luke, was old enough to stay in Virginia and pursue his own dream if he so desired. Luke enjoyed the reputation of his mother’s family and the opportunities it afforded him, so he stayed in Richmond and continued in the family’s banking business. Though back then it was not uncommon for a young man his age to be on his own, his decision still made the journey to Alabama even more difficult for his mother.

"Eliza, John, and their youngest son, Samuel, packed all they could use and store on their journey to find their place in southern Alabama. Unfortunately, Eliza’s concerns for her family’s safety had been for good reason.

You must appreciate what Eliza would be facing in Alabama, Danna says, attempting to make us fully understand a time period that seemed so distant. The Creek Indian Nation permitted our government to establish a ‘horse path’ for travelers in their territory in 1805.

Daddy adds, Mary Louise, you probably remember from Mrs. Hannum’s history class that the United States purchased the Louisiana Territory in 1803, which meant our government needed a route from Washington to New Orleans.

Mary Louise nods in affirmation, along with Julia and me, even though we haven’t had the class yet.

Danna takes a sip of her sweet tea, clears her throat, and picks up where she left off. "That horse path eventually became known as the ‘Federal Road.’ Travelers quickly spread the word about the rich, fertile land along its riverbanks. Settlers saw the opportunity and began taking advantage, encroaching more and more on the Creek Indians’ land. The Creeks, of course, resented the Federal Road. Having the land they had called home bought and sold right beneath their very feet was painful to bear, but the Creeks weren’t the only ones upset. In Florida, the Spanish were not happy that so many Americans were moving in the territory just north of them. So they, along with some disgruntled British agents, began to encourage the Creek Indians’ hostility toward the Americans.

"Tensions and fear rose. The settlers built stockades to protect themselves from potential Indian threats. When the Creek Indian War broke out, there was a great deal of bloodshed, ultimately ending in the Creek Indians’ removal from the area. By order of the 1830 Removal Act, the Indians were taken downriver to Mobile, over to New Orleans, and up the Mississippi River to Indian Territory. Soon enough, many of the Indians had been relocated, allowing more and more white settlers like John and Eliza to move into the area.

"It was in September of 1835 that John, Eliza, and their younger son, Samuel, arrived at the United States Land Office in St. Stephens, Alabama, to make inquiry and to purchase land. St. Stephens had been established on the west bank of the Tombigbee River, where deep draft boats could not navigate over the shoals and were forced to stop. St. Stephens became, as some later called it, the ‘Ellis Island’ for people moving west. When shallow draft boats where able to forge the river north of St. Stephens, the town moved inland a few miles. And that was where it had come to rest when the Hawthorne family passed through.

"The Tombigbee and Alabama Rivers converged just south of St. Stephens, so there was plenty of choice land to be had on either of the riverbanks. Clarke County along the Alabama River appealed to John, who had often wandered around Richmond’s James River Canal to experience the exciting world of the riverfront that unashamedly appealed to him more than their formal society life. Though John was still quite the gentleman—wooed by Richmond’s finest young ladies—the fact remained that the riverfront gave him a sense of adventure that high society had lacked.

"John counseled with Eliza and Samuel, and they soon made their decision to purchase eighty acres at one dollar and twenty-five cents an acre on the west side of the Alabama River, just north of known squatters and just south of the Darringtons’ place.

"The Darringtons lived on the highest bluff on the Alabama River between Mobile and Claiborne, known then as Peggy Bailey Bluff. Colonel Darrington had purchased the land the year before from Miss Bailey, to whom the federal government had given the tract of land for her bravery. In 1813, the brutal Indian massacre at Fort Mims caused the residents of Fort Pierce, who were just south of Fort Mims, to flee the fort in hopes of escaping a possible Indian attack. However, when they reached the Alabama River, they were unable to cross. Peggy Bailey swam across the alligator-infested waters, procured a flat boat, and ferried the residents to safety. People still tell her story, even today.

"In St. Stephens, John purchased needed supplies—a cow, some chickens, seed, and a few luxury items such as white flour, coffee, and sugar. He bought as much as they could manage to carry and planned to rely on steamboats to bring other supplies up from Mobile on the Alabama River. Their little family was actually among the fortunate ones, wealthy enough to purchase what they needed and a little of what they wanted. Eliza mailed letters from St. Stephens to her son Luke and her family, giving an account of their travels and letting them know that they had arrived safely. Though the trip had been arduous, the knowledge that John had a dream for their home on the newly purchased land allowed her to wholeheartedly commit to their new way of life.

"After their stop in St. Stephens, the Hawthornes traveled eastward and at last reached their new homeland on the bank of the Alabama River. John found a perfect site on the highest ground available to build their house a safe distance from the river, which could rapidly rise without much warning. The family of three stood on that site and thanked God for their safe journey and for the beautiful land that He had provided.

"Steamboats coming up from Mobile brought supplies that only a major port could provide, allowing John to make sure Eliza had a comfortable home. Most of the houses were constructed of peeled logs or hand hewn timbers, but John wanted Eliza to have a clapboard house with multiple rooms, heated by two open fireplaces needed for the short winter months. He hired a nineteen-year-old daughter of a ‘swamp farmer,’ as they called themselves, to live with them and help Eliza learn and handle their new way of life. In turn, Eliza taught the young girl, Sarah, to read and write and how to dress, eat, and speak properly. They were a tremendous help to one another and became fast friends, keeping each other company when the men were away.

"Samuel immediately made himself at home. At age fourteen he was ready to explore, hunt, and fish the young man’s paradise that was Alabama in the fall of 1835. He and his father hunted turkey, deer, hogs, and bears. They fished in the river and its streams. They cleared land for a small vegetable garden where they seasonally planted corn, potatoes, peas, squash, beans, and melons, all of which were eaten fresh or dried and stored for the winter. For Samuel and John, their surroundings provided all they needed. The woods captivated their interest and beckoned to be explored. They were very happy to be in Alabama.

"Life for Eliza, however, was not so easy. Her new lifestyle in this remote setting was a world apart from the social life she had enjoyed in thriving Richmond. She also missed her family’s traditions, realizing now how much she had taken them for granted. Like Sundays—going to church and meeting her extended family at her grandmother’s house for Sunday lunch, a ritual she had enjoyed since childhood. In this new, unsettled world, they had to establish their own Sunday services and dinner rituals.

"The Hawthornes would have