Stone Man: And the Trail of Tears

By Charles Suddeth

Driven to Stone Man’s trail...

After U.S. soldiers attack twelve-year-old Tsatsi’s Cherokee village, his family flees to the Smokey Mountains. Facing storms, flood, and hunger, they’re forced to go where Stone Man, a monstrous giant, is rumored to live.

His family seeks shelter in an abandoned village, but soldiers hunt them down. Tsatsi and his sister Sali escape, but Sali falls ill and is kidnapped by Stone Man. Tsatsi gives chase and confronts the giant, only to learn this monster isn’t what he seems.

Their journey is a dangerous one. Will Tsatsi find the strength to become a Cherokee warrior? And will they ever find their family?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dancing Lemur Press LLC
• Release date: Oct 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9781939844637

Charles Suddeth

Charles Suddeth was born in Jeffersonville, Indiana. He lived near Charlestown, Indiana on a mule-powered farm, on the site of a 1790 fort built to prevent Shawnees from crossing the Ohio River. He still loves mules, but the city won’t let him keep them.Though he is not legally Native American, he has Cherokee and Shawnee ancestors. His great-great grandfather, Bill Pennington, left his Cherokee village during the Trail of Tears and moved with his family to Charlestown, probably fording the Ohio River near the fort. On his European side, his great...great grandmother was Lady Godiva, making him a distant cousin to William Shakespeare. (she was unfairly accused of losing her clothes, but that is another story)He went to school in Michigan, receiving a BS from Michigan State University. He has done graduate work with MSU, University of Louisville, and Spalding University in veterinary medicine and education. He has donned many hats: federal meat inspector, salesman, truck driver, teacher, and caregiver. Currently, he is substitute teaching by day and writing by night.A widower, he lives in Louisville, Kentucky near Tom Sawyer State Park where he hikes whenever the weatherman lets him. He belongs to SCBWI (Society for Children’s Writers & Illustrators), International Thriller Writers, and Green River Writers. He hosts a monthly SCBWI Social in Louisville. When not storytelling, his interests include genetics, linguistics, and Rosicrucian studies. He writes poetry, picture books, middle reader’s books, young adult novels, and adult novels.

Book preview

Chapter One

Fall 1838

Hoofbeats and yelling woke me in the middle of the night.

I leapt to my feet. Doda, my father, hurried to the door of our single-room log cabin.

"Yonega. Yonega," a warrior on horseback cried, warning us about white soldiers.

Doda waved him on. The rider rode off to warn the rest of our village. People were spilling out of cabins, only to be surrounded by soldiers.

I had heard about soldiers burning Cherokee homes and taking them to stockades to steal our lands and send us west across the Mississippi River. I never believed it could happen to us. I froze.

Soldiers are patrolling the roads. I loaded the canoes earlier. We must go, Doda shouted.

Aytsi, my mother, slipped homespun haversacks around our necks. They held cornmeal and supplies. I grabbed a second haversack to save some of my belongings such as my blowgun and an extra pair of moccasins.

Run, shouted Doda as he picked up my baby brother, Tsegson, and carried him out, leaving the door wide open. Tsegson slumbered on Doda’s shoulder, oblivious to the commotion.

Tsatsi, stay with Sali, Aytsi said.

My sister, Sali, was two years younger than me. She clutched her haversack without complaint and stood by me. Her shoulders trembled.

Doda had named me Tsatsi, meaning George, after the American chief George Washington. Although I was only twelve, the strong name made me feel like a warrior.

My six-year-old sister, Nanyehi, whimpered and buried her face in Aytsi’s long dress. Aytsi took her hand and rushed into the night. Sali and I followed close behind her. Dodging cornstalk spikes left over from harvest, we dashed for the creek.

Horses snorting and men shouting made me look over my shoulder. A single file of torches snaked toward our cabin. I hoped they didn’t spot us before we climbed in our canoes.

Soldiers torched the cabin next to ours, and the sky grew so bright I blinked from the glare.

We kept running.

Behind us, soldiers yelled.

More hoofbeats.

Doda, do you hear them? I cried out as fear pounded my heart.

Don’t stop!

Our cabin, the only home I had ever known, burst into flames. The sky turned to daytime. The heat from the flames licked the back of my neck.

Let’s surrender while we can, Aytsi said.

We cannot go back. They will shoot us for trying to escape, Doda hollered.

We didn’t slow down. Reflecting off the dewy grass, the moon had dwindled to a sliver, and darkness shrouded Redbird Creek. Firelight from the burning cabins helped me find the path and avoid boulders lining the banks.

Doda and I shoved two dugout canoes into the icy water. He took the rear of the first canoe, with Aytsi sitting in front. Tsegson sat between them; his eyes were half-closed despite everything.

I sat in the back of the second canoe. Sali took the front and Nanyehi knelt between us. Taking a deep breath, I waited for Doda’s lead. Sali held a paddle as Nanyehi quivered like a wind-borne leaf and hugged one of our packs.

Using a paddle, Doda pushed away from the bank. A moment later, I shoved my canoe away.

The wind shifted, carrying the sweaty scent of galloping horses toward us. A whinny and more voices carried through the damp night air.

We were too late.

Redbird Creek

Horses splashed in the creek. The soldiers who had torched our cabin closed in on us.

Doda’s paddle smacked into the water. A moment later, I jammed my paddle in and pushed my canoe into the middle of the creek. The soldiers hadn’t fired yet. With the darkness and their muzzle-loading rifles, they couldn’t afford to waste shots.

Hearing more noises, I glanced back. One of the soldiers cursed and whipped his horse. It whinnied and treaded into the marsh bordering the creek banks, a stone’s throw from my canoe. Other soldiers followed. I couldn’t see rifles, but I hunched down to keep from getting shot. Sali doubled over until the canoe shielded her head.

Nanyehi, lie down, I whispered.

Packs of food, blankets and other supplies lined the middle of my canoe. Nanyehi yelped and wedged herself between the bundles. Our canoe crept downriver. The soldiers could aim, fire, and reload before we could move out of range.

Lightning lit up the creek, outlining trees hanging over the water and rocks taller than me. Doda’s canoe kept a canoe-length ahead of us. I paddled as fast as I could, and Sali helped with her own paddle.

Thunder rattled our canoe. Nanyehi squealed and crawled to Sali.

Cold sheets of rain stung my face and hands as the other canoe pulled farther from us. One soldier stood on a boulder jutting into the creek and took aim. I heard the loud click of the rifle’s hammer and braced for the shot.

Nothing.

When I looked again, I could no longer see him. I hoped the rain had made his gunpowder too wet. Or perhaps he’d changed his mind about shooting children.

I wrapped a cloak around me to stop shivering. Ankle deep in rainwater, I lifted my feet and let the water drain into the canoe’s floor. Doda had hewn the canoe from solid ash wood, but I didn’t know how much water it could hold. With three of us and our supplies, our canoe rode dangerously low in the water.

Sali, start bailing before we sink, I shouted.

With what? She waved her empty hands.

Drinking gourds, I snapped. Hurry up.

Sali grabbed a gourd. The water’s freezing.

If we sink, your body will be in that freezing water. I stopped paddling so I could help bail.

I’ll bail. Nanyehi used her drinking gourd.

The rain didn’t let up. Though Sali and Nanyehi made little headway, I hoped they would keep the water from filling our canoe.

I lost sight of Doda’s canoe. When lightning flashed, I realized they had gone around a bend. Even though my arms cramped, I didn’t dare slow down. Most of the families in Redbird owned canoes, so the soldiers could find one easily enough and chase us down. I looked back as lightning flashed. No soldiers in sight. For now.

My arms are aching, Sali said.

Me, too, Nanyehi chirped.

Keep bailing, I yelled. Do you want us to drown?

Sali continued bailing at a slower pace, and Nanyehi used one hand.

Since rain filled my eyes, I could scarcely see in front of my face. Rainwater fell into my open mouth as I panted. I spit it out to keep from choking.

The creek straightened, and I caught sight of the other canoe. It had ceased moving. The fire in the pit of my belly let up. I’d feared that Doda’s canoe had gone too far ahead for us to catch up. Doda’s paddle lay across his right shoulder. We pulled beside them.

Are you all right? Doda asked.

I nodded. My hands had blistered so badly I couldn’t stand to grip the paddle, but I refused to admit that to a warrior like Doda.

My hands hurt, Sali said.

Mine, too. Nanyehi held her arms straight up.

Aytsi leaned over from the other canoe, but she couldn’t reach Nanyehi. Fix the child’s cloak.

Sali tightened the cloak around Nanyehi’s neck until it hung from her shoulders.

While stopped, I continued to bail water.

The rain should ease up soon, Doda said. But we have to keep going.

Me cold, Tsegson hollered.

I couldn’t stop shivering, either. Longing to be back beside the fireplace, warm and drowsy and safe, I yawned.

Before dawn, we’ll stop and light a fire, Doda said.

We journeyed another mile or two. Nanyehi quit bailing and sat hunched over as if she had chilled, but Sali didn’t stop. Trailing again, I almost caught up with Doda’s canoe. But the current sped up, and our canoe twisted. We floated downstream at an angle. I paddled harder, but the canoe refused to straighten.

Its side scraped against a boulder. The shudder crawled up my legs.

The canoe tilted, and more water sloshed inside. How far ahead was Doda? What if the canoe capsized?

Do something, Sali shouted.

I shifted left.

The canoe didn’t budge.

Nanyehi, hold on or you’ll fall out, I hollered.

She grabbed onto the edge pointing to the sky.

Sali, help me shake it loose from the rock, I said.

We struck the left side with our shoulders as hard as we could.

The canoe didn’t budge.

Again, I cried.

Sali and I tackled the inside of the canoe again.

It moved.

We kept our shoulders pressed against the canoe’s wall. Even Nanyehi rammed it with her thin shoulder. The canoe slowly righted itself.

Hold on, I shouted.

The canoe bounced back, going too far the other way. I double-checked the sides. The rock had slashed a deep gash in the wood at water level, but not all the way through.

Nanyehi started crying.

Hold her, I told Sali.

Are we going to sink? She wrapped her arms around Nanyehi and kissed her cheek. I pushed the canoe farther away from the boulder with the paddle. It’s not leaking yet.

The other canoe had stopped. I caught up and steered my canoe beside theirs.

A huge oak lay across the creek. Since leaves still clung to the branches, the tree probably fell during the storm. I couldn’t see around it. I didn’t think we could go under the trunk, and we couldn’t portage canoes, not without several strong men.

The tree had us trapped.

Chapter Two

Deep in the Night

The fallen tree looked impossibly long. Nanyehi clung to Sali’s arm.

Sali murmured, What are we going to do?

Doda, can we push through the tree with our canoes? I shouted.

Too many limbs in the water. Somebody might get speared in the dark, he shouted back.

The rain had stopped, though water still pooled onto the canoe’s floor. I ached too much to move.

Follow me. Doda turned his canoe toward the bank on our left.

The moon crept out of the clouds and lit up the surrounding trees. The trees cast murky shadows on the water. The shadows might be soldiers or wolves or most anything.

I’m afraid. I pointed, though it was too dark for anyone to see my fingers. Soldiers might be waiting for us.

Tsatsi has a point, Aytsi said.

We’re a few miles from the Nantahala, Doda said in a hoarse voice.

The Nantahala River was much wider and deeper than Redbird Creek. Even in daylight, traveling by canoe on the rock-clogged Nantahala could be risky.

If we go up the Nantahala, we won’t be far from the town of Nantahala. I’m certain troops have already been there, he said. They likely burned it down.

I remember visiting Nantahala for the Green Corn Festival. How about the Town Center that sat on a high mound?

The soldiers probably burned it, too, Doda replied.

Then where can we go? Except for Nantahala, I had never been any place outside our village.

Into the mountains, said Doda. We can cross the Little Tennessee River and hide in the Smokies, but it will take days.

We can’t winter up there, Aytsi said. We’ll freeze.

Just for a spell, said Doda. One day we can go home and build a new cabin. Tsatsi’s old enough to help.

I ought to be old enough to fight the soldiers who torched our home, too. But I held my tongue.

Doda glided his canoe onto the bank.

I did the same as I tried to peer through the forest. My canoe hit the bank and shuddered.

Doda, I whispered as I held the canoe in place with my paddle stuck in the muddy bank. Let me check beyond the line of trees ahead.

He gazed into the darkness. I suppose. But be careful. Use your eyes and ears and head.

Watch the canoe, I told Sali.

She stuck her paddle into the muck along the riverbanks water and held onto it to keep the canoe from drifting away. Nanyehi hugged one of the canvass packs and stayed in the canoe.

I leapt onto a flat rock and darted between two thick trees. Their roots snaked around a greenish boulder. I stood between the trees and listened. Normal sounds—frogs, night birds, and countless bugs—broke the quiet.

I peeked around a moss-covered tree trunk. I couldn’t see in the dark, but the musty odor of water clung to my nose. I crept to the next tree and saw nothing except