Twister to Texas

Atsila pulled him down on top of her again and held him tight. She stroked his back until his manhood softened and slipped from her body and then murmured, "Now I am your wife."

Samuel eased himself off Atsila and rolled to her side. He felt her snuggle against him and then drifted off to sleep.

Atsila lay awake a little longer. She smiled as she spoke silently to the Moon God.

"Thank you, Moon, for hearing my prayer."

Then, she cradled her face on Samuel's arm and fell asleep.

As I read over what I've written above, I realize some readers may believe my tale is purely fiction conjured in the mind of one who writes for the pleasure of seeing his thoughts transformed into words. Mine is not, though it is not accurate to call it fact either. The true actions and thoughts of people dead for over sixty years have usually been lost through poor memory or changed over time with multiple re-tellings.

What I know as fact is my great grandfather was born in a log cabin on Salt Creek, about twenty five miles north-west of Springfield, Illinois. He did indeed fight in the American Civil War. His name is listed in the roster of Illinois Civil War Veterans. I know he did enlist in the 7th Cavalry during the Indian wars in Kansas and Oklahoma because his name is on the roster of one of the companies that were recorded as fighting at Washita River.

It is also a fact that my great grandmother was a Cherokee by birth. I know of my great, great, great grandfather's Scottish origin through the oral family history. A DNA test confirmed both my great grandmother's Cherokee and his Scottish blood flow through my veins along with Samuel's German contribution to my genetic makeup.

I do not have any memories of my great grandfather. He passed away before I was born, still living and working the cattle ranch he and Astila started in Texas. I run that ranch now, and often I see a relic of his handiwork. It won't be much, just the mark left by an axe when he squared a tree trunk into a barn beam, or the forgotten, worn horseshoe I found when digging the foundation for a new house beside the simple log cabin he built.

Atsila bore and raised him seven children in that small cabin, four boys and three girls. My grandmother was the youngest of them all, and I think somewhat of a favorite of Atsila's.

I do have some memories of my great grandmother, as she lived out her years at our house. Atsila Kerner was her legal name, but she never actually used that last name. She always wanted to be called "Mother Atsila" or "Grandmother Atsila". On her headstone is the latter. I think she would like to be remembered by that name.

I was eight when she passed three months short of her hundredth birthday, at least by her reckoning. I remember her as still strong of mind if not so strong of body. She sat with me for hours and told me of the ways of the Cherokee and of her life with Samuel.

When I asked her for more stories, she would smile and begin another tale of growing up in a Cherokee village or a tale from Cherokee folklore or a tale of how Samuel did something or other to make her life easier. Her eyes would always sparkle when she talked about Samuel. Later in life, I wondered at that sparkle. Most men and women back then married in order to share the work of living. I think Atsila married for more than that, or at least found more than that over the years.

The rest of my tale, I am afraid, is just that -- a tale told from vague memories embellished by my flights of fancy into what might have been. I do like to think things might have happened this way. It seems a fitting way for two people so far apart in culture to meet and decide to make a life together.