Walk in My Soul
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| Author | Lucia St. Clair Robson |
|---|---|
| Language | English |
| Genre | Historical novel, Western novel |
| Publisher | Ballantine |
Publication date | 12 May, 1985 |
| Publication place | United States |
| Media type | Print (Paperback) |
| Pages | 656 pages (Paperback edition) |
| ISBN | ISBN 0345347013 (Paperback edition) Parameter error in {{ISBNT}}: invalid character |
Walk in My Soul is a 1985 historical novel by Lucia St. Clair Robson. It is the story of Tiana Rogers of the Cherokee, the young Sam Houston, and the Trail of Tears.
Plot of Walk in My Soul
Tiana grew up learning the magic, spells, and nature religion of the Cherokee. And in a tribe that revered the life force that was female, she became a beloved woman—priestess, warrior, healer, and teacher.
Known as the "father of Texas", the young Sam Houston ran away on a lark from his family’s general store in Maryville, Tennessee, to live among the Cherokee. He hunted and played ritual games with the men and was adopted as a headman’s son and was known as "Raven".
Houston falls in love with Tiana, but due to their differing racial and cultural backgrounds, conflict ensues.
Excerpt from Walk in My Soul
- While minding his family’s store in the Tennessee settlement of Maryville, sixteen-year-old Sam Houston meets two Cherokee/Scottish brothers, James and John Rogers. On a lark he decides to return to their village with them. The three load the Rogers’ wagon and set out, but leaving town is not so easy.
- Sam held his breath as they drew parallel to the sagging front porch of the tavern. The three boys jumped when the door slammed open, breaking one of its wooden hinges and dangling askew. A small, filthy man flew backwards through the opening. His momentum carried him, flailing for balance, off the edge of the porch and into the muddy street. He landed on his back with a splash. It was obviously the most contact he’d had with water in a long time. The sow surged to her feet with a grunt and a twitch of her kinked tail. As she walked off with an air of injured dignity, the swarm of flies around her divided, some preferring to stay with the newcomer.
- The Wayside’s doorway filled with men hoping for a fight. But the man in the puddle just lay there. He stared serenely at the gray sky and swore steadily at his assailant, Dirty Dutch, a cadaverous fellow who looked down at him from the porch.
- (String of expletives deleted), said the man in the puddle. (More expletives).
- “Damnation!,” he muttered. He struggled to rise but the mud sucked him back to its bosom. He fell asleep, snoring in little hiccups.
- Dutch swayed, steadying himself with one hand on a shifty post. His watery blue eyes, rimmed with red, focused on the wagon. He pointed a finger at Sam and his new friends.
- “Injuns,” he shouted. “Little Sammy Houston’s takin’ up with Injuns.”
- “Can’t you prod these nags along any faster?” Sam asked John from the corner of his mouth.
- “What if they shoot at us?” asked James.
- “They have to check their pieces at the door,” said Sam.
- “Trunk,” muttered John.
- “They are indeed drunk,” said Sam. “How about some more speed?”
- John flicked the whip casually. He didn’t want to tuck tail and run from this scum, but he didn’t want to face them either. A dozen men moved off the porch in a pack and followed the wagon on foot. They had not the collective wits among them to mount their horses. Dirty Dutch loudly described the tobacco pouch that could be made from an Indian’s scrotum.
- “Either of you boys armed?” Sam asked.
- “We aren’t crazy,” said James.
- “White men see Indian with gun, shoot first,” added John.
- “Just thought I’d ask.” Sam resigned himself to his fate.
- “String them along, brother.” James glanced over his shoulder. “Wear them down, draw them away from their horses.”
- “Can’t go fast,” said John. “Horses plenty tired.”
- “You have an idea, James?” asked Sam.
- “Maybe.” James stood up and faced backwards, bracing his knees against the jolting seat. He put one arm up and pumped it, wriggling his balled fist obscenely on the end of it. “That’s what I’m going to do to your mothers and sisters, you barnyard bungholers,” he shouted.
- “Are you demented?” Sam put his arm over his head and ducked. With a howl, the mob broke into a run. Rocks hit the back of the wagon.
- “How far away are they?” John was concentrating on the mudholes in the road.
- “About a stone’s throw,” Sam mumbled to his knees.
- “When I give the word, slow down, brother,” said James.
- “Slow down?” Sam looked back at the ravening pack behind them. “Oh Lord, whatever I did wrong in this world of care, I’m sorry for it.”
- “Now,” shouted James.
- John began reining in the horses slyly so they seemed to be tiring. James climbed over the seat and moved toward the rear of the bucking wagon bed. He dodged the few rocks the men had the energy to throw. He pried the lid off the big barrel of plaster by the tailgate.
- “Father skin you if they don’t,” John called over his shoulder.
- “I’ll take my chances with father.” James freed the barrel from the ropes holding it. He stuck his tongue out at Dutch to encourage him.
- Sam realized what James had in mind and he smiled. “It’ll work.” He wet his finger and held it up. “The wind’s right.”
- Dutch was almost within reach of the tailgate. With a triumphant gleam in his eye, he grabbed for it. The others were close behind. James braced the barrel against the wagon gate and lifted it from the bottom. Using the tailgate as a fulcrum, he tipped the barrel so its contents poured down on Dutch and the others. The powdered lime rock and horse hair blew into their faces and eyes, setting them to sneezing and coughing. It coated them with white dust before the plaster settled into the mud. The men’s feet churned it into a hardening mass.
- James rolled the empty barrel over the edge of the wagon and it rolled into the their path. He laughed as most of them fell in a tangle, with Dutch on the bottom. They thrashed in the white mud until they were thoroughly coated.
- “Let’s go home,” said James. He held onto the tailgate with one hand and waved at Dutch.
- “Tsi’stu wuliga natutun une’ gutsatsu’ gese’i,” said John.
- “‘The rabbit was the leader of them all in mischief.’” James translated.
- “Whoo-o-o-ee.” Sam skimmed his tattered old hat back toward their fallen foes. He was filled to bursting with laughter, relief, and joy.
- As he watched his hat settle at Dutch’s feet, Sam wondered what kind of reception he’d receive when he returned from his holiday with the Cherokee, but he didn’t worry much. All he could think about was what adventures he would have with the Indians. Folding his arms across his broad chest, he settled back on the hard seat.
- “How do the Cherokees say, ‘Howdy-do?’” he asked.
External link
- For Book Club Discussion Points, more background information, and an excerpt, please the author's website: Walk in My Soul
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