(Georgia, 1838)
"Its official," Daniel Ross spoke in bitter tones. "The removal is going to take place."
"There's nothing that can be done?" Dani Ross, his sister asked. Her voice was resigned. She was as intelligent as she was beautiful and knew the answer already. I suppose she was hoping for some surprise that would change everything.
"No. The so-called treaty has been ratified by the Senate and President Jackson has ordered the Army to begin 'moving the Cherokee to their new home'."
The room resounded with the buzz of conversation from the people gathered there. I sat quietly in the back of the room. It was not my place to offer opinions or comments. I was a guest here. These were the people who were going to be torn from a land they had held for many years and thrust halfway across a continent.
The more things change, the more they stay the same. I recalled the uprooting of my own people beginning in 1653, when they were driven to barren Connacht. Untold thousands upon thousands had perished, either during the movement or afterward. I would have ground my teeth together except that my fangs got in the way. I made a tremendous effort and they withdrew, having dropped when my memories bubbled to the surface.
I had first come to New Echota, the capital of the Cherokee Nation, when gold was discovered in the Georgia hills. I didn't come for gold, after all, money was not something I needed. Rather, I had been moved by curiosity and my bump of wanderlust. And, well, "wander" was not the only lust I had been feeling.
I had met Daniel and Dani Ross over a year previously in Savannah. I moved in reasonable social circles, not the planter elite but the next step down; that of prosperous tradesmen and merchants, the smaller cotton factors and ship owners. I was passing as the widow of a Barbados planter. Single women, especially of means, were looked upon somewhat askance, and I could not afford too deep an examination after all. I had a town house of modest proportions and entertained and received invitations to parties in return. I did enjoy the parties and opportunities they offered to meet interesting people of both sexes.
As did those of my kind who could, I also had a well concealed hiding place in another part of town. In my case, it was several rooms near the waterfront. Comfortably furnished, they provided a base for the nights when I prowled looking for a meal. I ranged carefully over a good deal of the city, never feeding twice in a row from the same area. As well as safety, that also ensured I was extremely unlikely to feed from someone I had previously bitten. Two encounters in too short a space of time and I might have actually killed someone. My hunger had to be satisfied but at the same time I did not want to murder an innocent person.
It was at one of those parties one spring when I was introduced to the Ross's. Both of medium height, they had matching black hair and copper skins. Daniel's eyes were black. Dani's were blue, showing one of the strains that had mixed with the Cherokee over the centuries. I was taken with both of them from the first introduction. Their appearance stirred memories of the Orient and the lovers and peoples I had known there.
As distant cousins of John Ross, the Principal Chief of the Cherokee Nation, they were both well-educated and knowledgeable. I was fascinated to learn about their nation inside a nation, a nation with its own languages, written and spoken. A nation with its own laws and newspaper and all its own accoutrements and ways. I was also fascinated by them.
At a party one evening, I was standing alone on a dark porch, enjoying the night sea breeze when a voice spoke behind me.
"Out in the dark, Mistress Severin?" Daniel's voice came to me, using the name I was going under at that time.
"Bridget, please, Mister Ross" I turned and smiled at him. Enough light floated through the nearby windows to outline his form, and the two glasses he was holding. He extended one to me.
"Champagne?" I took the glass and he continued. "I would like that, Bridget. Please then, call me Daniel." With a hint a bitterness, "After all, 'Mister' seems to be a title that some here think I am not entitled to have."
"Then they're fools," I said simply. I touched my glass to his. "Your health."
We drank and chatted. As the night drew on, I asked him if he would be kind enough to see me home. The host summoned my rented carriage and Daniel assisted me into the back seat. I kept his hand in mine as he followed me into the coach. He squeezed my hand, then he disengaged his fingers from mine and gently stroked the skin on my arm. I shivered slightly and smiled.
We spoke little on the way home, but we sat close and I could feel the heat from his body. When we arrived I tipped the driver generously and led Daniel into the house.
It was dark and I lit a lamp in the hallway.
"No live in servants?" Daniel inquired, as he followed me up the stairs. I had made no verbal invitation to him, but the look we had exchanged in the foyer was enough. His own smoldering gaze had seen the desire in my eyes and matched it with his own.
"No, I prefer my privacy," I replied. That was true, I also didn't want anyone too familiar with my comings and goings. I also have a vivid imagination and could just see a helpful cook or maid bringing me breakfast in bed and opening the heavy curtains to a glorious sunlit morning. They were tightly fastened to avoid such an occurrence, but I was a devout follower of Murphy long before his famous law was written down.