Twice Upon a Time

By Lucinda Saxton

Inspired by true events, Twice upon a Time begins during the aftermath of the trail of tears when our government treated honorable people as viruses to be exterminated.

In this instance, Cherokee Native Americans: they had followed laws, they had their own alphabet, they had a government so compelling it was copied by the interlopers.

Ms. Saxton describes struggles and love stories handed down by fragments and educated guess involving two of her ancestors, stunning Winter Flower and gorgeous John John. Of the two, only John John is accounted for in the published first census of new arrivals in Oklahoma in 1839 “Cherokee Roots” (Western Rolls).

The true events within may act as a bridge between the quelling white man and victimized people of color as Saxton also shines a lamp onto formerly rarely-published facts of Martin Luther King’s 1960’s movement.

Overcoming injustice, with God’s glorious guidance, brings the reader to new heights of resolution and inspiration.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Nov 30, 2020
• ISBN: 9781662401442

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Twice Upon a Time

Lucinda Saxton

Copyright © 2020 Lucinda Saxton

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING, INC.

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2020

ISBN 978-1-6624-0145-9 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-0144-2 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

To those who struggle and those who triumph over injustice

Part I

Heroine

Winter Flower

Prologue

A President’s Betrayal

This wasn’t the first horse fourteen-year-old Winter Flower had saddle broken, and it wouldn’t be her last. She delightedly rubbed down the gilding’s sweaty coat. Her noble features radiated pride… Tom Bell would be pleased with her. The tall Cherokee posed a stunning sight as her long black hair, braided into a rope, swung in rhythm with her movements. She wore a cap-sleeved leather top tucked into a faded ankle-length skirt. Her high cheekbones and aristocratic nose left no doubt as to her Native American ancestry.

Bell, one of Winter Flower’s most generous employers, sat in the shade of a nearby maple tree, homeschooling his two small sons. His voice now thundered across the riding arena, And the seventh president was Andrew Jackson.

Jackson’s hated name caused a wave of anger to flash through Winter Flower’s body. This surprised her. The past, she lectured herself, is best forgotten. Still, she felt as if a mighty fist had punched an old wound. Her mind scurried back to the stories of Jackson’s attempted genocide of the Native Americans. He had torn her great-grandparents from their beloved Great Smoky Mountains during the winter of 1838–39. Armed guards tried to herd them to unknown lands in Oklahoma. Winter Flower’s wise grandmother, gone five years now, had often whispered of her childhood agonies. They had slipped away from the trail of tears. In fear for their lives, they made their way to a busy settlement known as Rocky Shores, on the banks of the Ohio River, in Southern Indiana. Townsfolk needed their untiring hands. They had survived. Thousands upon thousands who continued on perished by given smallpox-contaminated blankets, by starvation and exposure.

1

It is now 1901, Winter Flower had been forced to leave school a year earlier when her beautiful mother had been raped, beaten, and left to die. Her dear father had been mortally wounded trying to protect his wife. The four guilty white men, who had been whooping and laughing, had not been arrested; indeed, they had not been sought.

Winter Flower, long ago, stopped using her Cherokee name. It inspired hatred. She was known as Naomi—a biblical name which appeased the white man. That meant survival.

Naomi continued to rub down the beautiful horseflesh. She would not worry at this moment about past hell on earth.

She yearned to have a good time on this special night.

After stabling the gilding, with her wages resting in a beaded pouch hidden under her skirt, Naomi proceeded to her next employer. Here she collected the family wash.

She lugged it to her own hovel where three tubs sat in her backyard under shade trees. One for wash, two rinses, and finally the spotless laundry hung on lines in the sunniest part of her yard.

Her fondest dream had been to become the town baker. She had been in an apprenticeship at the bakery under the elderly Mrs. Baker. She had encouraged Naomi and said she was talented. Naomi loved the work, the smells, but that did not last long. Customers complained, We can’t have those red hands kneading our dough.

Thereafter a few compassionate church members arranged for her to run errands, mow lawns, care for orphaned stock. There was never any letup now that she had lost the bakery job. Earning a nickel here, a quarter there…it was barely enough to maintain herself and the modest one-room homeplace. Built three decades after Indiana entered the Union, it represented the valiant family determination to recuperate.

Aside from her exhausting work schedule, Naomi considered herself lucky. She had attracted a white man! Samuel McConnel would be calling later tonight. Her father would have been outraged! Her sweet mother undoubtedly would have been happy for her. With them gone, she often guessed at their reactions to her decisions, sometimes they guided her, sometimes not.

Mr. McConnel was very fetching. She often thought of him as Uku—chief. As a white man he had the potential to improve Naomi’s existence, certainly that of her prospective children. For sure their skin would be lighter, it would not broadcast their ethnic background. If they wanted to be town bakers, then they could be. They would be able to go through doors, which, for her, had always been closed.

McConnel had been a former shop owner of Sheffield, England’s cast-iron industry, and recently settled in America.

His British accent strongly attracted the Indian maiden. He had the darkest of red hair and smoldering golden eyes similar to moonglow. His handsomeness made Naomi’s heart race just feasting her eyes upon him.

Their first encounter occurred when he was in search of molds for his new cast-iron shop. Naomi later learned that he had been told she had a substantial supply. One evening as she strolled into her small yard, she spied a stranger sauntering around her house. She paused to watch him. As he bent to finger a kettle mold, her breathing accelerated; her first instincts were to run.

If this stranger wanted to walk off her property with her mold she would not be able to stop him. For when there was trouble between whites and any of the town’s minorities, the local police always arrested the minority, not the white perpetrator.

As magnificent a specimen as Winter Flower appeared, seemingly prowling farther onto her own property, she felt fear and knew it was manifested on her features.

At that moment the stranger straightened and openly admired her. His eyes surveyed her small waistline, her ample curves. He flung an arm toward the item he had been interested in and stated, I am in dire need of a kettle mold exactly this size, would you want to sell it?

Even though the man was talking to her bustline, not to her face, she answered in a friendly fashion, That is my most precious mold, sir. She now held her head high and met the man’s intense scrutiny unfearfully. Moving nearer, she realized his stature was downright petite. She suspected she could pick him up and nuzzle his little neck if she wanted. She became impressed as she further noted his unusual eyes, his red hair. She smiled, her teeth flashing a brilliant white in her burnished face. She continued, I would have to charge you a pretty piece for that one.

The stranger returned the smile. "Ah, a good business woman as well as a beautiful one. I am afraid I am new to this country and must barter when building up my inventory.

I have many staples at my store. You could come and choose what you wish for payment. You have a reputation for being an excellent cook, surely you can use more staples?"

Winter Flower’s eyes glittered with happiness now; she liked it that he was complimenting her.

The handsome little man continued, I also hear you are an untiring gardener, immaculate house cleaner, spotless laundress… He broke off laughingly as his audience took a bow.

She swept up her peasant skirt in her right hand, her left hand attempting to conceal a lovely cleavage as she bent.

Winter Flower knew in her heart of hearts she had a reputation for being skilled and competent. Her ethnic background would never allow her to boast however. Even now, with her admirer all but kneeling in admiration before her, she maintained reticence well beyond that expected of her young years.

As a matter of fact, the fellow continued, would you consider teaching this bachelor how to bake the wonderful cornbread I hear you make? It is my most favorite thing in the world.

She held up her hand for pause and ran inside her house with a broad smile. She cut a piece of the very fare he had mentioned from a pan on her cabinet then scooped it into a clean corn husk. Returning outside, she handed it to him. Here is a sample of my cornbread. She watched gratifyingly as he munched rapturously away.

He moaned, That’s it, that’s the taste I have craved. What is your secret for making a bread that is the flavor of corn but is as sweet as cake?

Even as he ate, she could tell he was flirting with her, for he definitely stared boldly and admiringly at her sensational body. She saw a rare opportunity to be herself and not the subservient underling she normally had to portray for the white man.

Naomi demanded laughingly, Why would I want to reveal any secrets to someone I don’t even know? She was relieved to see he accepted her newly found spunk and that his smile even expanded into a chuckle. She relaxed and gracefully sat on one of the two steps, which made up her stoop. She folded her worn skirt modestly about her legs and patted the empty space beside her.

Sam quickly joined her and offered, Forgive my manners. He then erected his little body to its full height and clicked his heels. My name is Samuel McConnel. I’m originally from Yorkshire way, England, and now settled here in Rocky Shores. Smiling, he again joined her on the steps.

Soon Naomi and Sam were chatting away like old friends. Naomi wanted to know what Yorkshire was like, especially the kinds of vegetables and fruits they grew. Sam wanted to hear stories about the old way of life of the Native American.

Naomi did not hesitate to describe how the meadows used to be filled with deer, rabbits, and quail. The creeks were home for huge turtles, luscious frogs, and fish. In the space of one morning’s hunt, enough succulent food was assembled for a week’s banquets. Autumn brought bushels of fruits and nuts, which were stored and enjoyed for much of the winter. With lilting words Naomi painted a picture of evening campfires and laughing children, of young dancers, of elderly smiles.

She explained the Cherokee practiced everything the white man required and then some. They had their own alphabet, their own newspaper, and a government white men copied. President Andrew Jackson caved in to white settlers who wanted more and more of the Cherokee lands—the Black Mountain gold. Betrayal by the government led to attempted genocide and ultimately to the infamous relocation—the trail of tears.

Even now, Naomi finished, gently shaking her magnificent head, there is a wound here. She placed her hand on her chest. I hope one day the pain will go away.

The handsome small fellow named Samuel McConnel sympathized with Winter Flower’s ancestral holocaust. At last she had found a person who treated her as an equal.

Their mutual attraction became a nucleus for a comfortable friendship, which drifted unencumbered into a romance. Now a year later, a lovely full July moon hung high in the heavens when Sam arrived for his evening visit.

Naomi, as was her practice, had bathed and wore freshly laundered clothes smelling of sunshine, even though tissue thin from much washing and near daily use. She was such a handsome young woman; however, even the well-worn rags did not suppress her appeal.

Sam hurried to her one-room hovel and tapped at the door. Naomi stepped out to greet him. She appeared to him not unlike a beautiful apparition in her gauze-thin dress. The light shining from her doorway outlined her curves and made him yearn for her.

They kissed lightly. Sam tried to pull her into his arms for a more passionate embrace, but the nimble teenager slipped easily from his grasp.

During this exchange Naomi’s keen sense of smell detected strong body odor wafting off Sam, and she laughed, You don’t have soap and water where you live, Mr. McConnel? You smell like a skunk! She pinched her nose closed with a thumb and forefinger in an exaggerated but playful repugnance. Her long hair shone like ebony silk and vaulted upwards to linger on her arm.

Sam breathed the sweetness of her and lost all control trying again to pin Naomi against her house. He wanted her now. Again she danced from his groping hands.

Sam pleaded in his beautiful British accent, You’re driving me mad, princess. Come to your Sam, love.

Naomi maintained a two-step around him, giggling irresistibly. She had expected him to propose by now. Let me hear a marriage proposal, give me your promise of love ever after. Sam could not see the determination in her eyes, but she saw a swollen proof of his desire. She could just hear her mother’s giggle, Looks like something has gone to seed.

Look away, Mother. You don’t want to see what your little girl is about to do.

Sam watched as Naomi continued her graceful dance, eyes smiling, hair flirting with the summer’s breeze. Her beauty, her tinkling laughter, was more than he could bear. He firmly grabbed Naomi’s hand; as she stopped her movements, he uttered, Marry me, my beautiful princess. Come to live at my place. You’ll be able to make it a nice home for us. I want you to do for me instead of your lazy proprietors.

Naomi’s heart beat faster hearing the words she thought would set her free. Instinct told her to cement that proposal, cement this evening. Yes, look away, Mother.

Let me think about it while I give you a bath you won’t soon forget. She knelt while lathering a bar of her homemade lavender soap in a rinse tub. It contained soft rainwater from the afternoon’s cloudburst. The benign appearing cake of soap contained a sprinkling of lye she had salvaged from cook stove ash. It would clean him well.

Sam moved to her side peering into the water, encircling her tiny waistline with soiled hands. I just asked you to marry me, and you’re only interested in bathing me? Naomi smiled up at him, stood, and began unbuttoning his shirt. Can it be Mr. McConnel that you have never been bathed by a loving woman? You don’t know what you have missed, my handsome knight. I want to please you…let me please you.

He swallowed around a constriction suddenly in his throat and once again drew her nearer for a kiss. They were standing in full moonlight. If her neighbors were watching, they could have seen every movement. This did not concern her tonight. She was determined to make permanent this relationship, whatever it took.

As Sam’s britches were pulled down, his skivvies began coming off as well. They both chuckled, and Naomi quickly pulled them into place then finished stripping the Englishman of his boots and socks. Laughing happily now, he steadied himself by holding onto her.

At last, there he was in his underwear; his belly and legs appeared chalk white in the moonlight. His arms, his neck, and a V-shape on his chest were pinkish-tan. The Cherokee smiled to herself at his paleness, but she was grateful for his sense of humor.

You sweet man, step into the tub. You’re about to see how very wonderful it will be to have me as your wife. Her full lips brushed his as she pushed him down into the washtub giggling and added, And I do accept your wedding proposal.

Surprisingly his man’s thing suddenly slipped through the fly of his underwear. In the moonlight, her virginal blush darkened her cheeks, and she quickly turned her head. Mr. McConnel, she weakly urged, you’re exposing yourself… Hide it, hide it!

Settling in the tub, Sam laughed and stretched, making himself comfortable, and caused water to splash over the side. Without gentleness, he hurriedly guided her hand onto himself and began manipulating it to his liking.

I’ll teach you in the ways of being a good wife, Naomi.

He’s pleasuring himself here. I’m being used…but not as horribly as Mother.

She was terrified, but without options. His lecherous expression and abruptness had changed him… He was suddenly a stranger. She desperately wanted to learn to be a good wife but never once suspected this was what it would be like.

His teachings had just begun, as it turned out. He pushed her head down toward his maleness with definite instructions.

Bad men on the street had suggested this unthinkable act to her. Now she didn’t understand. Is this lovemaking?

When it was over, she nearly lost her supper. The former sparkle in her eyes was now a sadness; she embarrassedly set to sponging him off.

He opened his eyes and said, Ah, princess, that was wonderful. You can give me a bath anytime you please. He then began exploring her body with his fingers as she squatted next to him. His touch distracted her, raised her hopes for a sweet romance. Then he nodded off, his hand slipped away. She was left with a need she didn’t understand. For what?

I brought this on myself. I wanted to seduce Sam…get a commitment out of him. Now that I have that accomplished, I will count my blessings and forget the myth I harbored. The brave warrior my mother spoke of doesn’t exist anymore. I’ll take what I can get.

It was long past her neighbors’ bedtime by now. They were not witnessing her crushing disappointment. Earlier they had heard the laughter and speculated there would soon be talk of marriage. They knew, as Naomi did not, that Sam’s business reliability had all but vanished. Lately he had developed a nonchalant attitude toward meeting deadlines.

As their wedding day approached, Naomi expected to be invited to make ready their prospective living quarters in the back of the iron shop. The invitation didn’t come.

She realized she was no longer looking forward to the big day. As well she had not offered to bathe him again and definitely danced out of his reach at every opportunity. In fact, a future on her own now didn’t seem half bad.

A week prior to their planned wedding date, Sam surprised her with a plea to let him move in with her. It had been a beautiful Indian summer day. Naomi found him waiting on her stoop as she returned from a job. His distinctive red hair blended with the reds and golds of leaves on bushes and trees in her yard. His comely face still brought a skip to her heart.

I’ve changed my mind about your preparing my shop for us to live in, princess. You have everything we need right here. What would you think of me moving in with you after we marry? He did not explain that he had no money for further rent on the shop, that he intended to shut down the failed business the day before their wedding.

The young woman had no experience with freeloaders and agreed to his new plan. They took a brief canoe trip down the Ohio River for their honeymoon. When a secluded cove appeared around a gentle bend, they knew they had found their spot. They pulled the canoe onto a sandy beach, Naomi set up camp while Sam threw in a fishing line.

Soon tender bass grilled over an Osage orange fire, and Winter Flower served a simple but savory wedding supper on the banks of the rolling Ohio.

The quiet swish of the current and the reflection of the iridescent moon on the water lulled the Cherokee into a flashback. She could visualize dancers within the fire’s glow. The men, nearly naked and hard of muscle; the women, lovely in beautifully ornamentalized hides. Inner yearnings of an old way of life she had never known soared through her veins.

That night Winter Flower’s needs were not considered, nor would they be in the future, except when it suited Sam’s perversion, which was yet to fully surface.

2

Winter Flower’s shock in learning Sam shut down his shop dimmed her joy when realizing she was pregnant. She longed for a family such as what she had before her parents were killed. Knowing she would have to continue working frightened her. Many