Backwater Tales

By Talmadge Walker

Five novellas and short stories set in the American southeast. An elderly Choctaw recalls his youth and the De Soto expedition. Long after the war, a Confederate veteran has to marry to get a pension. After finding a gold star in her mother's collection of knick-knacks, a young woman in Alabama learns some family secrets. Lost in the woods, a man discovers a ghost at an old abandoned home. Finally, a young man out of law school decides to run for Congress somewhere in Appalachia.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Talmadge Walker
• Release date: Jan 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215497760

Talmadge Walker

Originally from Alabama, Talmadge Walker is a semi-retired former EC teacher. He lives in Hillsborough, NC with his wife and three kids.

Book preview

Backwater Tales

by

Talmadge Walker

Table of Contents

Nashoba’s Lament

The Pensioner

The Well

Trespasses

Raising a Ruckus in the Greene River Valley

Copyright 2018

Nashoba’s Lament

Nashoba

The sun was low in the west as Chekilli and the other hunters continued along the path. From up ahead, this side of the old empty town, came the call of the red-winged blackbird. Chekilli stopped, and waved the men behind him off the pathway and into the trees.

Wotko stepped forward and whispered: I wonder what they’ve seen.

I do not know, Chekilli replied. Nothing fierce or we would have heard the hawk call.

Do you think people have moved in to the old town?

I do not know. We will see.

In a moment they heard the sound of running feet – one man, most likely – on the trail ahead. Chekilli fingered his club, while Wotko fit an arrow to his bow and the others watched silently. They all relaxed though when Chebona appeared round the bend up ahead, running quickly but not urgently. Chekilli stepped back out onto the path.

Hail Sister-Son. We heard the blackbird call. What have you seen?

Chebona trotted up to his uncle and stopped. His eyes and face glowed with the excitement of youth, and though he had been running fast he was not out of breath.

We saw an old man…

An old man? Chufi said from behind Chekilli, nearly laughing in derision. You stopped our hunting party and made us wait just because of an old man?

Silence! Chekilli ordered, and he spoke again to Chebona: So you saw an old man. What of it? What was he doing? What people does he belong to?

Uncle, we saw him from afar. We do not know where he is from or what people he belongs to, though he reminds me of the Alabama people. We saw him at the old town where no one lives now, on top of one of the mounds. It looked like he was making a fire.

Was he alone?

Yes. We watched for several minutes from afar, but we saw no one else and heard no one else.

Chekilli nodded and asked: The town, does it still seem abandoned? Is the palisade still broken and rotting?

It looked the same as it has my whole life, Uncle.

Did any of you speak to the old man?

No. We thought you would want to speak to him first.

Good. I would like to speak to him. Run back to Yaholo and Harjo and tell them we are coming.

Chebona turned and ran back up the pathway, disappearing quickly. Chekilli waved to the others behind him, and they all gathered up their gear and game and resumed walking along the path.

He will make a good hunter, Wotko said, a few steps behind Chekilli, eager but not foolish.

Maybe, Chekilli answered, and a smile crossed his face.

The shadows were growing darker quickly, but they could soon see the river on their left and, way on up ahead, what may have been the silhouette of one of the larger mounds.

Should we get off the path? Wotko asked. If there are others in the old town, they may have someone up there watching.

No, Chebona says there is only the old man there. Besides, we are not a war party. If there are people in the old town I do not want to alarm them.

As they drew nearer to the old town they met Chebona again. Chekilli told the others of the hunting party to wait where they were, while he and Wotko followed Chebona in closer. In a few minutes they reached the other two scouts, who were watching one of the smaller mounds from behind a bush.

What do you see, brothers? he asked them quietly.

One of the scouts – Yaholo, the older one – pointed toward the mound. He is there, he whispered. He has a fire lit now.

Chekilli looked toward the mound, about eighty yards away. There was now a low red glow atop it, and in the light of the glow he could make out a seated figure.

There is no one else? Chekilli asked.

No one. Just the old man. He was moving around a bit earlier, gathering wood and maybe food. Now he is just sitting by the fire.

Chekilli looked and thought for a moment. They could go on, and find somewhere else to sleep tonight, but the mounds and the old empty town would be a good place to rest, if you weren’t afraid of ghosts. And he felt an urge to talk with the old man.

Go back and bring up the others, he told Wotko. We will sleep here tonight. Turning to Chebona and the other scouts, Chekilli said: I will go talk to the old man. If I make the call of the mourning dove you may come up and join me."

Chekilli turned and made his way toward the mound, crossing through a gap in the rotting remnant of what was once the palisade. He walked quietly, but not silently – he was not creeping up on game or an opponent – and soon he reached the mound, which rose maybe ten feet higher than his head. The side here was steep, so Chekilli circled around to the ramp side. From there he strode up to the top of the mound, and found himself facing a grey-haired old man, sitting cross-legged on the opposite side of a small fire.

The old man was bare-chested, but he kept the chill off his back with an old blanket of deerskins. He looked lean, but his leanness was that of hunger, not running, though at one time he must have been very active. A stone axe-head lay beside him on the ground, but he made no move to grab it.

Chekilli showed his open hands. "Greetings to you. I am Chekilli, of the Abeika.

Greetings Chekilli, the old man answered. I am Nashoba, of the River People, of the town of Mabila, though my people are scattered and Mabila is now ashes and dust and I live with the Chickasaw. You and your friends may join me by my fire if you wish.

Chekilli’s eyes grew wide, though he hoped the stranger did not notice. He had heard his grandfather tell stories of Mabila, and of the great battle that was fought there. But if this old man knew those stories, Chekilli would want his nephew to hear them, so for now he just said: Thank you. You know about my friends?

My eyes are fading but my ears still hear. There are several men off in the bushes. They can join us.

I thank you. I will call them. Chekilli turned and made the call of the mourning dove. It is a soft call, but it carries far on a quiet night. Turning back to the old man, he said: We are a hunting party of twenty-two men. May they all join us?

Ah! So that is who the blackbird called. They may join us too. If there are too many they can sleep on another mound, or on the ground between.

Shortly Chebona came walking up the ramp with Harjo. They both looked with curiosity at the old man as they stepped up to Chekilli. Yaholo is waiting for the others, Chebona said, if you approve.

Chekilli nodded and smiled. Then, he turned back to Nashoba and said: This is my sister’s son, Chebona, and his cousin Harjo. This is their second long hunt with us.

The old man smiled up at them all, and he waved them forward and invited them to sit around the fire. Chebona and Harjo sat down to either side of Nashoba, while Chekilli squatted on the opposite side of the fire. The three of them watched as the old man set a small clay pot of water on the fire, and tossed a piece of sassafras root into the pot. At his side was a small bundle wrapped in the old, ragged skin of a woodchuck, which he pulled forward and unwrapped. Inside was a small bunch of watercress, wild onions, two persimmons, and several tubers of some sort, as well as a few blackberries and muscadines.

I do not have much to eat, the old man said, apologetically, but it would bring me joy to share it with you.

The two youths both looked at Chekilli. Under normal circumstances they would have accepted the offer without hesitation, out of politeness if not of hunger. But they worried that, if they accepted the food, the old man himself would go hungry. Chekilli brought his hand up and drew his thumb and forefinger together, signifying a little. Chebona and Harjo each took a blackberry, while Chekilli took just a few of the watercress leaves and chewed them. Presently they heard the footsteps of many men coming up from the darkness.

That must be your hunting party, Nashoba said. I’m afraid I don’t have much food for them.

We have plenty of our own food, Chekilli replied. Please do not offer them any.

Chekilli stood up and stepped over to the edge of the mound top. Down below he could make out the rest of the hunting party in the moonlight. This way, he called out, pointing toward the ramp side.

Shortly the men of the hunting party began streaming up onto the top of the mound. The old man smiled at them as they came up, and they looked curiously at him.

There is dry wood for a fire off yonder, Nashoba said, pointing toward a spot to the north of the mound, and a good spring over that way, feeding into the river.

Chekilli nodded at the men and several of them headed off to get wood and water, while others set about getting some food ready. Wotko and Chufi approached Chekilli with frowns on their faces.

I do not like this place, Wotko said. With a fire up here on the mound people can see us for miles around, and we are not in our own lands. What if a war party catches us here?

We have no quarrel with anyone right now, Chekilli answered, but we can set out sentries so no one can sneak up on us.

I do not like being in this town, Chufi said. In many of these old towns the people got sick and died. Some were never buried. There may be ghosts here. I do not want our people to get sick.

This town was abandoned many, many years ago, long before you and I were born. Any ghosts that were here wandered away long ago. We will be alright.

But what about the old man? He looks sick to me. I would not be surprised if he dies tonight.

If he dies tonight, it will be because he is old, Chekilli answered. When you are his age I hope you are as healthy.

They looked at the old man, who was now breaking the tubers and tearing the wild onions and tossing them all with the water cress into the water of his pot. Chufi shook his head and muttered something, but Chekilli and Wotko stepped forward and stood before the old man.

We are preparing our own food now. We have some ducks we will be roasting, and some dried fish. Please eat some with us. In spite of what he had said to Chufi, Chekilli was concerned about the old man’s thinness.

Thank you for your kind offer, Nashoba replied, but I have taken a vow not to devour the flesh of an animal for as long as I continue to live. Please forgive an old man’s rudeness and craziness.

Chekilli was stunned. Chufi burst out laughing when he heard the old man’s remark.

But… Why make that vow? Wotko asked. Everyone eats meat, when they can get it. Even many animals eat the flesh of other creatures. The wolf eats the rabbit. The fox and the owl eat the mouse. The heron eats the fish. Why do you not eat meat?

When I was younger I did eat meat, just as you do. All creatures need nourishment. But now I am very old and death approaches. Any flesh I ate now would be wasted. I will not take the life of another creature if it serves no purpose.

All the men who heard this looked at the old man. They were puzzled but most were respectful. After a moment, Chebona stood up and whispered something to his uncle, who nodded. As Chebona went to search through the foodstuffs, Chekilli spoke again to the old man. We have some dried beans as well. You can boil some with the rest of your food.

That would be nice, the old man answered with a smile. Thank you.

Chebona brought a few of the beans to the old man, and watched as he dropped them into the pot. Nashoba picked up a wooden spoon and stirred the contents for a while, then he brought a little of the liquid to his mouth and tasted it.

By now the others were dragging some wood up to the other end of the mound and preparing a spot for a second fire. Some of the men were dressing several of the ducks they had killed, to prepare them for cooking.

Chekilli spoke again. Old man, will it offend you if we cook and eat our game here?

Nashoba shook his head. No, it is my vow, not yours. Eat what you want.

Chekilli nodded, but he did what he could to keep all the meat away from the old man, so he might not be tempted to break the vow. The others all completed their tasks of preparing and cooking and, after they had eaten, of cleaning. After all was done some of the men settled down with their blankets to go to sleep, while others slipped off to the other nearby mounds to take their turns as sentries. A few, including Chekilli and Wotko, gathered back around the old man to talk and ask and listen.

Why did you choose to rest here? Wotko asked. Were you just curious like we were?

Not really, the old man answered. You see, I knew this place, when I was much younger. The people are now all gone from here, but there is wood and water nearby, and some food if you know what to look for. If the land around is wet the ground up here is usually dry, but I can sleep down at the base of the mound if the wind blows cold.

You were born here? Chebona asked.

No. I was born in Mabila. Several of the men stirred and grew more interested at the mention of that name. But my people would come to this mound from time to time. Later I was adopted by another people who did not come here, but I would still come here by myself from time to time, and later I would come here with my sons and daughters, at least until disease overtook us.

At the mention of disease some of the men grew uneasy, looking out in the darkness with concern. The old man noticed this.

Do not worry. That was far from here, and long ago, when I was a young man. Not many years older than most of you, and younger than some. As long as you don’t go pawing through debris around here you should be fine.

Tell us about Mabila, Chufi blurted out.

Ah, you want to hear about the battle, when my people stood up to the pale invaders from over the deep water and nearly destroyed them. It is a proud story, but it is also a sad story. We crippled them but they destroyed us. Many died; many were maimed; many were driven out or taken away. I will tell that story, but I will start with happiness.

Mabila

"I was born the child of the youngest sister of one of the principal men of our town, of Mabila. We were friendly to Atahachi and their chief Tascalusa, and bound to them as allies. I was not the oldest nephew of my uncle – very far from it – but I was very proud of my family and my town and my people. I’m sure people would smile and laugh at me behind my back, as I strutted around behind my uncle and older cousins, but they meant no harm and neither did I. Life was good. I was happy. We were not the strongest town in the region, and Tascalusa had more power, but in times of trouble he would seek help and advice from my uncle, and my uncle would give it.

One day a messenger arrived. I did not talk to him myself of course, but I heard later that he came from Tascalusa. My uncle and the other leading men in our town met with him in our lodge for several hours. When they finally emerged from the lodge I noticed something new on my uncle’s face. He was not afraid – I never saw him afraid – but he was uncertain. I think that morning, before the messenger, was the last time I was wholly happy. Even much later, when I had found Kinta Humma and we had children and more than our share of happiness, it was always tinged with a little regret for what had been lost.

The messenger – did he bring news of the pale men? Wotko asked.

"Yes, the pale men from over the deep water who rode great beasts and wore shirts of metal and carried the big sticks that made thunder and shot stones. When we first heard stories of them many of us did not believe them. Uncle sent messengers of our own back to Atahachi to learn more about the new people who were coming into our lands.

"As the days went by, we heard more news. The strangers were going from town to town, demanding food, and captives to carry their burdens. And women. They wanted our women for their lusts. Not in an honorable way, where you wed a woman and join her family. No, they demanded that we give them women to take on their journey through our lands. Some of the chieftains up in the highlands gave them women who had been captured from other towns. Others decided to just abandon their own towns and hide until the strangers had passed on through. Everyone was frightened. Why did the strangers not bring their own women? Some of us thought that perhaps there were no women in the strangers’ land, but if that were true how did they breed?

"We heard that Tascalusa and the other leaders had decided to do two things: First, Tascalusa and some of the other leaders would go to meet with the strangers, to convince them to either return to their own land or move along more quickly and leave us all alone. Also, we and the other towns allied to Atahachi would gather our warriors there in Mabila, to fight the strangers if we had to.

I waited for more news with my mother and her sisters. After a few days we heard that Tascalusa had met with the strangers and their leader, but now he was a captive of sorts – not severely mistreated, but not allowed to leave either – a hostage to guarantee they would not be attacked. They demanded that we send them food. But they did not understand our language well, so when Tascalusa sent us orders to bring them food, he also sent more instructions for the gathering of our warriors.

Didn’t the strangers suspect something? Chekilli asked.

"I do not know. If they did, they did not show it. Perhaps they had been through so many towns where no one was strong enough to fight back that they assumed no one would fight back. I do not know.

"But while the strangers and Tascalusa slowly made their way down the river we made ourselves ready. Our palisade was already firm and strong but we replaced any logs that were loose or beginning to rot. More warriors arrived, and their leaders made plans of how best to fight the strangers, if the strangers were determined to fight. Our people were all agreed that, if the strangers released Tascalusa and moved on, we would not attack them.

"The children and the old were sent off to friendly towns, so that they would be safe and not in the way if fighting broke out. I convinced my mother to let me stay though. I know she regretted that later. Perhaps I do too, but we can’t change our decisions once they are past.

"On the day the strangers arrived I stayed hidden away with my mother and some of the other women. Our warriors had sent scouts out so we knew when they were approaching. Late in the morning, we heard a murmur from the warriors who stood guard along the palisade. They saw some of the strangers astride their large beasts, and for most of our people that was the first time they had seen the animals.

Most of our warriors were hiding in and behind the lodges. The plan was for Tascalusa to enter the main lodge and the warriors would deny entrance to the strangers. We would tell them to go away, and hopefully they would do so when they saw what they were up against.

Young Nashoba put his face up close to a crack between two logs of the hut and peeked out. From there he couldn’t see the entrance to the palisade where he knew some of the strangers would be now, but he had a good view of the lodge. His uncle Coahoma stood by the door to the lodge, wearing his fine otter-fur cloak and holding an over-sized war club. Coahoma stood there to impress the strangers, but he also effectively blocked the doorway to anyone he did not want to enter. Several of Nashoba’s oldest cousins stood behind Coahoma along the wall of the lodge.

Can you see anything? one of his aunts asked.

Shh! another one snapped.

Nashoba ignored the admonition for silence and spoke, though quietly: I can see Coahoma, but none of the strangers yet… Wait, there’s Tascalusa!

The great chieftain had entered Nashoba’s field of vision for just a moment, wearing a long cloak and his plumed bonnet. Coahoma stepped aside, allowing Tascalusa to enter the lodge, but quickly moved back into place, blocking the entrance to others.

What’s he doing? someone asked.

He went inside the lodge, Nashoba answered.

Shh! one of the aunts whispered again. We shouldn’t have let him stay.

No harm is done, Nashoba’s mother replied. He will stay in here. He will cause no trouble.

If fighting starts between our people and the strangers, you will worry about him and he will be in the way.

That will not happen, he heard his mother say, but Nashoba lost interest in the argument at that point. What he could see through the crack had regained his attention. His uncle still stood guard at the entrance to the lodge, but near the back of the building, probably out of view of the strangers, a hole had been made. It was too small for anyone to get through, but Nashoba could see a man, one of the warriors of the town, with his face to the hole listening and speaking. After a moment the man ran off, but he was quickly replaced by another warrior.

Nashoba couldn’t see much beyond that, but he could hear the chanting of some of the women. They were singing – and probably dancing, though Nashoba couldn’t see it – one of the chants from his people’s corn-planting ritual, though this was the wrong season for that. Nashoba was puzzled for a moment, but then he remembered that the planting dance involved some very intense movements on the part of the young women taking part. The purpose of doing it now must be to entertain and distract the strangers rather than to encourage a bountiful crop.

This went on for a long while, and Nashoba was starting to tire of watching, but just as he was about to give up and find something to eat, someone else stepped into view – one of the strangers. Nashoba was torn between