With Wings as Eagles

By Nancy Kay Barnard

Follow eighteen-year-old Jonathan and his best friend, Charlie, a Cherokee Indian, into the wilds of Northern Kentucky in 1856 to rescue Jonathan's father from a renegade tribe of Shawnee. Charlie and Jonathan depart the mountains of Western North Carolina on horseback and have many exciting adventures along the way. With Wings as Eagles is a novel of suspense and perilous episodes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9781098093662

Book preview

With Wings as Eagles

Nancy Kay Barnard

ISBN 978-1-0980-9367-9 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-0980-9366-2 (digital)

Copyright © 2022 by Nancy Kay Barnard

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of 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

Chapter 25

About the Author

To my dear sister, Carol, my writing buddy for all of our lives.

But they that wait upon the Lord

Shall renew their strength.

They shall mount up with wings as eagles.

They shall run and not be weary.

They shall walk and not faint.

—Isaiah 40:31

Chapter 1

Mama must have gone into labor just before daylight this morning for she came waking me in the dark. Jonathan, get up and get the cow milked. My water's broke, but I think I have time to feed the chickens. You're going to have to walk around the mountain to get the birthin' woman Miz Aggie. I can't do without her. I don't think she has anybody else ready to give birth on the mountain right now, so she's gonna be home, I'm thinkin'.

Okay…okay, Mama. Let me get my overalls on. Is Becca awake?

Not yet, and you'll have to take her with you. Third babies don't linger, and I don't want her hearin' my sufferin', but hurry. Get her up and tell her to get dressed, and make her wear her shoes. She won't like it, but the ground's been cold with Winter comin' on. Hurry, son.

Yeah, Mama, okay. I'm up, get at them chickens.

You and Becca eat some of that leftover corn bread and a glass of buttermilk. You'll need your strength. And take the gun.

Pa had taught me well with the rifle. He started real early on in my life with everything—shooting, riding and grooming that horse of his. I thought then that it was love, but it wasn't. It was his dad-gum wiggling fiddle-foot! He was anxious for me to grow up and take over the farm chores so's he could go on another useless tramp into the wilderness with that no good, exploring, adventuring fellow that lived down the mountain, Rufus Sledge. He was gone on one now, probably snoozing somewhere in a dark forest by dying fire embers. The trips were getting longer and longer since I got to be so big at eighteen, almost six feet. He did depend on me, and I knew I'd give my dying breath to Mama.

He'd come home in the early days before Rebecca was born with all his tales of looking for a better piece of land further west or even gold. Mama let on like she just believed him. Her eyes would kinda shine as they laughed together about better days a-coming.

I was pretty little, but I knew about the fiddle-foot from the start. Mama never complained to him, but after he was gone, she'd complain to the cow, complain to the milk pail, and complain to the chickens, thinking nobody heard her.

Then Mama would pack him up again on Jimmy, that long suffering horse of his. He'd take as many bottles of home brew as that old horse could carry, and when they gave out, he'd come a packin' back. That old exploring friend of his would probably someday take the two of them clear to the Pacific Ocean, laughing and splashing. Maybe the Indians that were sent West would get them.

It was now 1856, eighteen years after the Removal. President Andy Jackson sent them poor ole Cherokees out West, over the Mississippi. They wouldn't have hurt a fly, them Cherokees. They liked to farm and such; some of 'em hid out, way up in the high mountains, and were never found. I know they're still here because my very best friend in all the world, Charlie Abernathy, visits them down in Sand Town every chance he gets, learning their ways and customs. He's a full-blooded Cherokee, adopted by the Abernathy family, our neighbors, and raised as their own son. Mrs. Abernathy is just crazy about him. He's her only boy in a passel of little girls.

I remember one time when Charlie and I were little, seven or eight years old, my Mama and Mrs. Abernathy were talking quiet-like about the Indian Removal. That was eighteen years ago, about 1838. At least that was some of the removal from North Carolina and Mrs. Abernathy was living right where it happened, a little further south, before she moved here. I remember my Mama had said it didn't seem quite the same without the Cherokee presence. The Indians had been friendly and cooperative, taking on settlers' ways and not interfering with us much except to live and farm beside us. Our mountain had several Cherokee farms on it up in the coves, being not high and some flat in places. Now they were gone. Charlie and I watched and listened to his Ma that day as she was talking to my Mama.

Mrs. Abernathy had sighed and got a faraway look on her. "Eight years ago, it was before we moved here. They came streaming by the house, lines of wagons, armed soldiers a yelling and pointing their guns with bayonets at hundreds of Cherokee they had rounded up. They had pulled them out of their cabins, didn't give 'em time to even grab their belongings. Grimmer faces on Indian men and women I never see before. They wouldn't get in the wagons! The Cherokee men just out and out defied the soldiers, staring them down and walking on. Their horses, what they had, just farm horses, had been taken from them.

"Then this little Indian gal and her husband come by real close to me, she wasn't more than seventeen or eighteen herself. She had her little new infant wrapped real close in an old brown blanket so you couldn't tell what she had in her arms. I'd left my own little Sarah asleep in the house behind me, her not more'n a year and a half. I was still nursing her and what a good thing that was!

That little Cherokee gal looked real sharp at all those gun-totin' soldiers and chose a moment when no eyes were on her. Tears were pourin' down her pretty little face. She just as quick and quiet handed that baby into my arms, his little black eyes a peepin' out and him so quiet and good. Indian babies don't cry much. That was you, Charlie! She cuddled him up to her and went on with her story.

"She and I, we had one understandin' look between us. I nodded. She whispered in my ear just one word: ‘Tsali.' I thought it was your name, honey, and it was. Your Cherokee name! She must have named you after that great Cherokee hero who got killed that year in November because he tried to save his people from being taken West.

I took you in my arms and wrapped you around with my shawl so's nobody could see you. I didn't dare move or hardly breathe! Your little Mama and Pa walked on with the rest of them, she bent over with grief, not lookin' back, not attractin' any attention. Some real old Indian saw what happened, and he set up a-hollerin' to get the soldiers to look at him, pay attention to him so's they wouldn't notice about the baby. They prodded and threatened the poor ole thing. I have blessed that dear old Cherokee in my heart every day of your life, Charlie. You know the Indian ways. Tales came back somehow to those poor Cherokees who escaped into the far woods and mountains. The tale that got back said that your dear little Ma and Pa and even that old Indian died of smallpox on the way to wherever they was goin' to. So now, Charlie Abernathy, you're my big strong boy!

Charlie ducked his head into her dress, but me and Charlie were proud. My Mama took Charlie's Mama in her arms and held her tight. Mrs. Abernathy's eyes were tearing up, and she and Mama were smiling and patting each other. You could tell Mrs. Abernathy was crazy about her little boy, and she still is.

Chapter 2

Charlie had always been my best friend forever. He could shoot straight and run like a wolf, even when he was little. Now he's just a wonder. He's not quite as tall as me but real strong. Mama says he is a handsome devil.

Mr. Abernathy has always encouraged Charlie to be real proud of his Cherokee blood. He bought the black horse for Charlie to grow up with so's he could visit the Cherokees in Sand Town where the Indians live now. His Ma didn't like it. Charlie's been hanging out with the Cherokee boys his own age who grew up after the removal in 1838 for some time now. He used to take me with him sometimes when Pa was home. We would ride bareback, me on