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Jillian Elliott's feet were precariously planted in two worlds: the Cherokee nation on the brink of extermination, and the world where he belonged. On her first meeting with the charming and handsome merchant, Jesse Whitmore had set her young heart ablaze. Yet, could she trust him? Or was he just like all the rest? Would he stand beside her while she witnessed her nation ripped apart, or would he join the ranks of the powerful greedy to betray her? Inspired by legends and family history of Cherokee treasure hidden along the winding rapids of Georgia and Tennessee. Click here for behind the scenes research on Beyond the Waterfall.. Chapter
1
Jillian
couldn’t see a thing. The blindfold wrapped so securely about her eyes
that not even the rays from the warm afternoon sun could penetrate the
woven material. The obstruction of vision heightened her awareness of
the sounds and aromas emanating from the rushing river rapids. Her
cousin, Running Deer’s strong hand gripped her upper right arm while
the tall, strapping Chief Joseph Vann escorted her on her left.
Carefully they guided her over the rocky terrain. “Watch
your step here, Jillian; it’s a little difficult,” Running Deer
warned as he helped ease her over a large stone. “Wait
right here,” the Cherokee Chief’s deep voice commanded
authoritatively, but not harshly. Jillian
stood perfectly still atop the boulder. She felt one muscular arm
encircle her back and the other slip behind her legs. Weightlessness
followed. She knew it was
Chief Vann who carried her. He was married and seventeen years her
senior, but still the thought of having this handsome, powerful leader
lift and carry her to their final destination sent a surge of excitement
through her twenty-year-old heart. Jillian
felt a cool spray cast moist droplets against her skin and heard the
rushing of great waters as the temperature dropped cooler instantly. She
drank the musky dampness into her lungs and her nose twitched from the
pungent heaviness. She could hear the Chief’s boots sloshing through
liquid. He exerted no more effort in transporting her across the cave
than he would in moving a kitten from one side of a barn to the other. Besides
the musty odor of their surroundings, she knew they were in a cave
because she could hear the men’s voices reverberating against the
cavern walls. The
sloshing sound ceased and she suspected the men had stepped onto solid
ground. Chief Vann carefully set her feet to the cave floor and her
cousin removed the blindfold from her eyes. Jillian
gasped at the spectacle before her. Four torches lined the walls – two
directly in front of her, one to her left and another to her right. The
flames flickered and danced, sparkling against an entire cavern full of
shimmering gold and silver! Large gold bars blanketed the cavern floor
and gold and silver coins heaped over and spilled from baskets placed
haphazardly around the cave. The light refracting off the precious
metals gave the entire cavern a luminous orange glow. In
wonderment, Jillian stepped forward and then stopped, turning toward the
chief and pointing to a basket of gold coins, “May I?” He
nodded affirmatively and Jillian squatted down, inserted her hand into
the coins, letting them trickle through her slender fingers and clink
back into the basket. One remained in her palm. Examining its Cherokee
markings on either side, she watched the dazzling light from the torches
bounce off the shiny surface. “It’s
beautiful,” she noted and then gently replaced the coin. “Is all of
this yours?” “Some
of it,” the chief nodded. He wore a tailored suit, his dark thick hair
cropped short and his kind twinkling brown eyes smiled at her. He was
six foot six and an amazing specimen of a man. Refined, educated and
kind, he’d risen far above his father, Chief James Vann, who before
him had become a hardened drunk whom many feared but few liked. “Most
of it is the Cherokee nation’s,” he continued. “Remarkable,”
she whispered in awe. “There
are more treasure repositories like this one,” Running Deer commented.
“All hidden. Only a privileged few have seen them.” “That
is why you blindfolded me?” she asked. “It
is safer for you this way. You’ll not be able to tell anyone how to
find it.” Joe
Vann reached over and lifted six shiny silver pieces from a basket at
his feet. He handed them to Jillian, “Purchase what you need for the
village with this.” She
nodded with understanding and slipped the silver into a leather pouch. “We
must always use silver when bartering with the white man,” Joe Vann
explained. “Gold sets their lustful hearts ablaze. They already
suspect the wealth of our lands and are doing all within their power to
dispossess us.” Joe
Vann lifted the blindfold, and she turned her back to him so that he
could place it over her eyes. Soon
she was traveling back downstream, winding through the rapids on a
canoe. When they had gone a sufficient distance and hit calmer open
waters, Running Deer removed her blindfold. She squinted, allowing her
eyes to adjust to the intense brightness of the afternoon sun. Once she
could see clearly again, she noted the trading post ahead, nestled among
the orange, red, and yellow foliage of autumn. Smoke billowed from the
chimneys, rising and hanging suspended like a child unwilling to drift
too far from her mother’s apron strings. Jillian’s
task lay ahead of her - trading for the items her village needed.
She’d been sent by her father and the other members of the council
because of her unique skills. She had learned English from her white
mother and the art of trading from her half Cherokee father. Joseph
Vann, also known as “Rich Joe” was the second wealthiest man in the Jillian
stepped off the canoe onto the grassy embankment. Joe Vann and Running
Deer accompanied her on either side as they ascended the hill toward the
trading post. “I
have a matter of business at the livery,” Joe Vann motioned toward his
left. “I shall meet you here when I am done.” Running
Deer and Jillian nodded and turned toward the mercantile. Three
intoxicated, burly mountain men lounged like fattened hounds after a
heavy meal. Their loud laughter and howling conversation echoed forth
from the porch of the log building. Jillian
kept her eyes fixed on the doorway and told herself to proceed onward as
if the ruffians were not there. Running Deer put his hand on his
cousin’s arm, offering her the security of his presence. He was a tall
young man with thick dark hair and penetrating brown eyes. He did appear
older than his seventeen years, but still, he would be no match for
these vagrants should they decide to become violent. One
of the men whistled loudly while the other two made insinuative remarks
about her beauty and her ability to bear a man handsome sons. Anger rose
in a red heat on Running Deer’s face. His fists clenched and the
muscles in his bare shoulder and chest rippled. She recognized trouble
ahead with only a glance in her cousin’s direction and put her hand
over his fist. “Never
mind them,” she whispered in Cherokee and the pair continued forward and stepped onto the wooden porch. The boards creaked with the
men’s weight as they rose from their languid positions. Just as
Jillian and her cousin were about to enter the building, one of the
large men, with mud splattered across his shirt and a reeking stench of
rum on his unattractive person, stepped over obstructing the entrance. “If
you will excuse us please, sir,” Jillian countered coolly in clear and
perfect English. The
man did not budge and Running Deer glanced quickly over his shoulder to
see if he could spot Joe Vann, but their leader was nowhere in sight. “And
what have we here?” the inebriated miscreant pointed to the leather
pouch around Jillian’s neck. His speech slurred so incoherently that
Running Deer couldn’t understand the man’s English, but he could
guess what he wanted by the way the reprobate eyed his cousin and her
purse of silver. “Please
allow us to pass, sir. We have business inside,” Jillian answered
unflinchingly. “Perhaps
you should make your transactions with me, young lady. I can give ye
what ye need,” the man grabbed Jillian’s chin, sliding his filthy
paws along her face and toward her neck. Reflexively she held her
breath. Running Deer attempted to pull the man off his cousin, but he
may as well have been a fly trying to move a mule. “Get
Joe Vann,” Jillian urged Running Deer in their native tongue and
Running Deer bolted down the porch steps toward the livery. “Your
young man is a coward,” the man’s intolerable breath suffocated her,
and Jillian coughed from the stench. Just as the man would have dragged
her off to an ignominious encounter, his body jerked away from her like
a mangy mutt hauled by the scruff of its neck. “Leave
the young lady be, Chet,” a tall brown-headed white man ordered. While
her attacker was more flab than sinew, her rescuer was nothing but
brawny muscle. He stood nearly a foot taller than the drunkard and
transporting him by his grimy shirt collar, shoved the mongrel aside
onto a rocking chair. The cur’s weight fell backwards and he flipped
the chair over, landing on his flabby backside. His companions did not
come to his aid, but rather burst into intoxicated laughter. The
handsome man, who looked to be about Jillian’s age, gazed at her for a
moment, his emerald green eyes engaging her dark brown ones. “Have
you been harmed, Miss?” he asked as his penetrating gaze moved from
her face down the length of her. “No,
sir,” she shook her head negatively and the man’s observation
returned to her face, noting the softness of her features. While from
her skin tone, long dark hair and high cheekbones, he deduced that
Cherokee blood ran through her veins, there was a soft European quality
to her gentle features and full lips. A most exquisite combination, he
thought. “I
am terribly sorry for your trouble, Miss.” He extended his hand to
her, “I am Jesse Whitmore. I would be more than happy to help you with
your purchases.” “Thank
you, sir,” she nodded and he allowed her to enter the building first.
After she’d stepped inside, Jesse redirected his gaze, giving the
drunken mongrel the stern expression a canine owner would issue a
disobedient pet. Turning his attention back to Jillian, his features
softened as he solicitously accompanied her through the store. She
selected bolts of fabric, needles, thread, quilts and other assorted
items. Suddenly
Running Deer and Joe Vann stormed into the mercantile, surveyed the establishment and
marched straight to Jillian's side. “Have
you been harmed?” Joe Vann asked with concern as Running Deer put his
hand gently on his cousin’s back. “I
am well. This gentleman helped me,” Jillian pointed to Jesse. She
noted the clear admiration on Jesse Whitmore’s countenance as his eyes
lifted toward the six-foot-six Cherokee Chief’s face. “It
is a pleasure to see you again, Chief,” Jesse stated with marked
respect in his voice as he extended his hand. “You
as well, Mr. Whitmore,” he answered, giving Jesse a hearty handshake.
“Thank you for looking after Jillian.” “A
pleasure, Sir,” he smiled. Joe
Vann turned to Jillian, “It appears as if you are in Mr. Whitmore’s
capable hands. I have a few more items of business and I shall return
shortly.” He paused and then reached into his vest and pulled out a
piece of silver and handed it to her, “Select something for yourself
while you are here.” “Yes,
Sir. Thank you, Sir,” she nodded and smiled gratefully. “Running
Deer, come with me. I need your assistance,” Joe Vann instructed and
the two men departed. “Is
that your husband?” Jesse inquired. “No,”
Jillian chuckled lightly. “I am not married.” “I
see,” he nodded and his eyes smiled at her, but his lips did not. How
did he do that? She wondered how his eyes could relate kind happiness
without actually betraying the emotion in the upturn of his lips.
Her eyes fell to those lips momentarily. They were full and he
wore a mustache with no beard on his strong square jaw. There was a
slight cleft in his chin. She did not allow her eyes to linger on his
face, although she would have gladly let them remain if she could have
done so without his awareness. He
continued to help her gather the items she needed, and she had quite a
stack on the mercantile counter by the time she handed him the six
silver pieces. Then, Jesse
reminded her that Joe Vann had given her some silver to buy something
for herself. “May
I make a suggestion?” he asked. She
followed him to the counter. He stepped behind it and retrieved an
ornate silver comb that a woman would wear in her hair. He set it on a
black velvet surface in front of her. “Only
hair as lovely as yours would be a fitting residence for this fine a
workmanship,” he flattered. She
could see him mentally pulling her hair back and putting the comb in her
locks. She diverted her eyes from his and studied the comb, pretending
that she was attempting to ascertain its construction.
A nervous flutter came over her. She did not know what to do with
such a sensation for she had never before experienced anything like it.
Even being carried by Joe Vann could not compare with it. The encounter
with Vann was more like the excitement one would feel in the presence of
one’s hero. This was different – much different! “This
looks too expensive for only one piece of silver,” she noted. “Yes,
I suppose it is, but perhaps you have something else to add to the
exchange?” “It’s
extraordinarily beautiful, but I have nothing else to offer,” she laid
the comb gingerly on the soft velvet. “I
will let you have it for the silver and a picnic lunch,” Jesse offered
in his best bargaining voice, turning sideways to rest his elbow on the
counter in front of him. “A
picnic lunch?” her eyes darted up to meet the mirthful twinkle in his. “Saturday
at Jillian’s
heart fluttered even more furiously than it had before. It would be a
shrewd bargain on her part. One piece of silver, a picnic lunch and an
afternoon with this handsome man in exchange for a beautifully fashioned
silver hair comb was an advantageous trade on her part. But she didn’t
even know this man. Yet, he did rescue her from the ruffians, and Joe
Vann felt her safe in his care. Jesse
could tell the beautiful young woman weighed her decision carefully.
But he also knew by the look in her eyes upon first seeing the
comb that she wanted it. As
a matter of fact, it was almost the exact expression she’d given him
the first time his eyes had held hers. But how badly did she want the
comb? Badly enough to spend
an afternoon with a man she didn’t know? He found himself holding his
breath, anticipating her reply. “You
drive an … interesting… bargain, sir,” she drummed her fingers on
the wooden surface. Then coming to a decision, she slid the silver
toward him and took the comb. “Where”
she asked, trying not to meet his gaze directly. His eyes were smiling
again. His lips were parted slightly, but still the corners remained
unchanged. She shook her head nervously, a bit tongue tied. And Jillian
was never tongue tied when bargaining. That’s why she’d been
selected to trade for the village. “Where
do you wish your picnic, sir?” she finally managed. “Do
you live in Spring Place?” he asked, deducing that she probably lived
in Joe Vann’s community. “Yes,”
she answered. “I
will meet you at the village entrance at
“Very well, noon Saturday it shall be,” she nodded affirmatively, extending her hand to him in agreement. He took it in his grip and a thrilling hammering resounded throughout her body as he held it lingeringly in his. The couple’s eyes and hands were still locked when Joe Vann and Running Deer entered the mercantile and joined her at the counter. Self consciously, Jillian retrieved her hand. Joe
Vann noticed the large quantity of goods that Jillian had acquired with
the silver. With one raised eyebrow he watched her slip the silver comb
into her leather pouch. Mr. Whitmore thanked them for their business and the three left with Jillian’s
purchases. As
they loaded the merchandise into their two canoes, Joe Vann commented,
“The village is fortunate to have you as their trade
representative.” “Why
is that?” she asked. “In
all the time I’ve been trading here, I have never seen the mercantile
come out on the short end of an exchange, but today you have come away
with more than you bartered.” She
did not wish to explain anything, but he looked as if he wanted
clarification. And when Joe
Vann wanted an explanation, an explanation he received. “There
were some intangibles involved in the transaction,” she could feel the
blush rise to her cheeks, and she cast her gaze downriver instead of at
the formidable leader. “Intangibles?”
Running Deer’s voice held a tinge of alarm as his worried gaze darted
toward Joe Vann. What had
his cousin bartered? “What
kind of intangibles?” Joe Vann prodded. “A
picnic lunch with the new owner of the mercantile,” she muttered,
hoping they wouldn’t hear what she said nor ask her to repeat herself. Joe
Vann’s hearty laughter rung out across the water. When his humor
subsided he elbowed Running Deer, “This Mr. Whitmore is a shrewder trader
than I gave him credit for.” Her
cousin nodded with a knowing smile. It took every ounce of
self-restraint Jillian could muster to keep from throwing one of those
bartered blankets over her head to hide her embarrassment. Join the Clean Romance Club to Read the Full Story
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Beyond
the Waterfall