Drawn by the Dream Catcher

PROLOGUE

AGIANT EAGLE picked Zachariah up by his arms and carried him to a strange land where most of the people were a reddish color. Some of the older people in the town walked around in buckskins and spoke in a strange tongue.

Indians?

He’d only heard about Indians. Never seen them before.

They weren’t savages unlike many of the stories he’d been told. They were civilized, and many were dressed similarly to him in trousers and a plain shirt. The men didn’t interest him as much as the fairer sex.

The most beautiful woman he had ever seen, with piercing green eyes, welcomed him. She dressed like the rich ladies who came to the restaurant in a long gown with a sloping neckline that showed off her shoulders. With one finger, she beckoned him to come nearer. He took a step forward. Instant attraction pulled him closer. Soon he was in her arms kissing her lips and cheeks and neck.

She moaned, encouraging him to continue. His hands traveled down her back, and he wished he could feel her skin-to-skin. See all of her uncovered splendor.

Such a forbidden thought surprised him, temporarily pausing his ministrations. Never before had he longed to be with any woman that way.

Is something wrong? the mystery woman asked her lashes hooded as she gazed up at him.

This is wrong, he said, gently pushing her away. Even if she was an Indian they shouldn’t be together. He was a slave. Slaves didn’t even marry without permission.

It is not wrong, she insisted. We’re meant to be together. We’ll be drawn together soon.

Drawn together? he repeated. What did that mean?

She cupped his cheek with her lace-gloved fingers. The spirits have decreed we meet and not just in the dream world. Someday soon our paths will cross in person. Her hand trailed down his chest, and heat rippled through his body at the teasing contact.

I look forward to meeting you.

The woman’s image faded and Zachariah reached for her catching her hand. Their fingers intertwined as he desperately tried to keep her with him longer.

Soon, she promised, her voice turning airy.

Zachariah woke under the covered wagon, his heart racing. He’d dreamed of this maiden before, and each time the dream grew stronger, and his picture of her clearer. If only he knew her name! She promised they would meet soon. Would he recognize her?

He scooted a bit to work his muscles. The hard ground did little to help his backside. Master Galloway and his son slept inside the wagon while he and old Joe were stuck on the ground.

Joe’s leathery hand touched his shoulder. You all right, yougun? he asked.

Zachariah wanted to tell Joe he was practically a man and to stop calling him that, but he supposed to the man with graying hair he appeared young. Should he tell Joe the dream he had had—the very strange dream?

Each time he dreamed of this woman he wanted to share his temporary joy, but he kept it to himself. Joe would probably scoff at his secret desires. After all, he put little stock in what the dream woman had said. She was just a figment of his imagination, a fantasy.

I’m fine, he replied. Rain drummed on the packed earth, and he was glad he had the wagon to sleep under to keep dry. Guess the rain woke me up.

Joe grunted and closed his eyes. Go back to sleep. Morning will come soon enough.

He didn’t know if this woman was an angel or the devil.

He didn’t care. He longed to dream again, to feel her body. He knew he would only feel this happiness in his dreams.

Chapter 1

Joy, Kentucky

December 5, 1838

ZACHARIAH PERCHED ON the wagon seat beside Joe. Thankful he hadn’t been sold at the big auction in New Orleans, his nerves remained frayed. Staying meant living with the Galloways. Master Galloway seemed a decent enough man, but his son Henry could run the Lucifer competition.

Joe rested one hand on his thigh, the gesture father-like. Zachariah never knew his father, the white man who had taken advantage of his mother and sired him. His mama refused to talk about the man, and now he doubted he’d ever see her or his sister again. Many miles separated them.

He closed his eyes and pictured his mama’s face and then his sister Rachel’s. His sister’s face transformed into the beautiful Indian woman from his dreams, her skin lightened and her dark eyes turned into a piercing green. The braided pigtails grew longer woven together in a single thick strand down the woman’s back.

He shook his head and sighed. That face haunted him. Or bewitched him.

Joe pulled back on the reins, jarring Zachariah out of his wool-gathering. Gripping onto the seat, he bounced over the rough road. The sound of wood breaking sickened his stomach.

Danged ruts, Joe shouted.

The wagon sagged and they both climbed out to examine the damage.

Master Galloway rode his white gelding back to them, his slender frame more powerful than his wiry limbs implied. I should have known we’d run into more trouble, he snapped.

Sorry, Master, Joe replied.

Master Galloway waved off his apology. Not your fault, Joe.

Master Galloway’s horse snorted a puff of air rose in the cold making the beast look like it was smoking. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger across his dark blond mustache. Broken axle?

Joe nodded.

Well, we can’t fix that ourselves. Henry, he called, and his son pushed his black stallion forward, joining them. Why don’t you ride back to Joy and get the blacksmith.

Henry’s beady green eyes gleamed and a hint of a smile grazed his lips. Master Galloway grabbed his arm, On second thought I don’t want you to go into town. I’ll have Joe go.

Why? Henry grumbled.

After your run-in with the law at the whorehouse you’ve proven you’re not man enough to be left alone yet.

Henry’s jaw twitched, but he didn’t reply.

Having a couple years on him, Zechariah knew Master Henry was far from a boy, but his father had been treating him like one ever since they left Natchez.

Galloway dismounted and passed Joe his reins. Take my horse. He pulled a scrap of paper out of his vest pocket and wrote Joe a quick pass. Just in case. I doubt anyone will question you, though.

Yes, sir. I’ll be back directly.

Zachariah wished Master Galloway had sent him on the errand instead. Of course, the man probably didn’t trust him enough for that. Joe had been with him for more years than Zachariah had even been alive.

If he had been sent back into Joy would he have come back with the blacksmith? Zachariah didn’t know. Life with Galloway was going to be miserable.

Working the plantations in the Deep South would be worse than waitering in his restaurant, of course, Henry promised to keep him on his toes and lay into him at every possible moment. What he had done to wind up on the Master Henry’s bad side he didn’t know.

Zachariah didn’t know what to say or do without Joe. He’d quickly latched onto the old man like a father figure. His life had turned upside down after being sold, and he yearned for some familiarity, some security.

Head bowed, he remained silent, not wanting to draw attention to himself. 

Crying and far off shouts perked his ears. He raised his head and his eyes bulged. In the distance hundreds of Indian men, women, and children huddled in groups. Others walked around under the watchful eye of cavalrymen. The wagon rolled closer. Zachariah made out bits of their conversations, some in a tongue he couldn’t understand. Most of the Indians were dressed like lower and middle-class white folks in modest suits and dresses. However, some of the people, especially the elderly and young children, wore beads and feathers and leather clothing.

Damn savages, Galloway said.

Filthy bastards, Henry muttered. They neared close enough to smell the sweat of the Indians and the leathery scent of the hides some of the frail wore draped over their shoulders.

A sergeant rode out to greet them. Where you headed?

Louisville, Galloway replied.

The brown-haired soldier nodded. Good, cause we haven’t been able to use the ferry for days on account of there being too much ice in the river.

Galloway pointed to the Indians. What are you doing with all of them? Galloway asked.

Escorting the Cherokees to the reservation.

Good, Henry chimed in. They don’t deserve that gold and rich farmland.

Cannot help but feel sorry for them, though, the sergeant said, scanning the poorly clad natives. He took a deep breath. Well, I have just come to tell you that we have taken all the muskets away from the Indians. They are peaceable. We want you to pass on without causing any trouble.

Galloway rubbed his hand across his mouth taking in the sight of all the Indians and negroes mixed in with the crowd, many in their own segregated groups. His eyes glowed as if struck by an idea. Can we talk with them?

Yes. Many of the younger ones speak English.

Galloway dismounted, handed the reins of his horse to his son and walked over to talk to a young man who looked like he had white blood mixed with the Cherokee in his veins. He had short black hair and was wearing a stylish brown pin-striped suit.

Zachariah quickly realized that some of the Indians had slaves. He gritted his teeth. In society, negroes were even below Indians. What would it be like to be an Indian’s slave? He didn’t know much about them, but he had heard from a peddler that they had strange ways. They even ate dogs.

His eyes fell on a young, slender Indian woman with deep amber skin, her skirts so full she resembled a bell. Her straight black hair rested on her shoulders; while the style was unfashionable, he realized it kept her warmer. She wore a white dress with green polka dots that matched the color of her eyes. Her white bonnet stood in contrast with her black hair accentuating her nativeness.

With a graceful motion, she turned her head and looked at him. Their eyes locked.

His heart stopped for a second, he held his breath and blinked. Her every curve seemed familiar—all too familiar. He licked his bottom lip, slow, hungry.

She was the woman from his dreams—the woman calling to him. The woman whose warm embrace he imagined at night. The woman was happiness in the flesh.

She did not return his smile, but her soft features seemed to invite him over, her eyes calling to him.

Master Henry, Zachariah said in a timid whisper, may I go talk with the Indians? I ain’t saw an Indian before. Except in my dreams.

Henry grunted. No.

Yes, sir.

Zachariah searched the crowd to find the Indian woman again. She was now talking to a lady who appeared a little older than herself. Both women rubbed their arms vigorously over their tightly wrapped dark brown, crocheted shawls. Her every shiver sent a knife into his tender soul.

Master Henry.

What?

Can I go talk to them? Just for a minute. I’ll stay in sight, right close. Please, Master, Zachariah pleaded.

Henry turned his head away, his eyes upward, and sighed with annoyance. Go on.

Zachariah jumped out of the wagon. His gaze locked with the Indian woman as he approached. He held his breath watching her brush a strand of hair behind her left ear. She fingered her cross necklace like she was bored. He stopped and bowed to the two ladies.

Ma’am, may I talk with you?

The older lady laughed mockingly. Sister, this man must be serious if he bows before speaking.

Zachariah sucked in his breath. He hadn’t realized he had done something wrong.

Leave us be, Bessie.

Ma would not approve. You need a chaperone.

The young woman rolled her eyes. With an exaggerated turn of her neck, she looked at all the soldiers around them. There are plenty of people watching us.

The joking in Bessie’s gaze vanished. She pressed her lips together and walked away.

Don’t mind my sister, the young woman said, shaking her head. My name is Lillian Hildebrand. What is your name, sir?

Zachariah blinked, momentarily speechless at being called sir. Zachariah, he said, careful not to look her in the eye.

You have not had much practice being around girls, have you, Zachariah? Lillian smiled; her eyes had a laughing gleam. She took a deep breath and the hint of ridicule disappeared. I do not mind. Most of our men are too bold. I like that you are shy.

Zachariah blushed. You have a pretty name, ma’am. Like lily flowers. You’re beautiful like a lily.

Thank you, Zachariah. She watched Master Galloway, who had already purchased two male slaves. You with him?

Yes, Miss.

Where you headed?

He has a restaurant in Louisville.

We are headed to Indian Territory. Her voice faded. She took a deep breath before continuing. We were going to leave in the summer but the heat was unbearable and we turned back. Now we’re freezing. But the army is still escorting us there anyway.

Zachariah took off his coat and held it out to her and spoke soft and genuine. Please, Miss Lillian, take my coat.

Lillian shook her head. I am sure you are freezing, too. You are in need of winter clothes as bad as we are.

It will warm my heart knowin’ that you’re not shivering. I have a thick blanket to wrap up in, Miss. Please put it on.

Lillian took off her shawl and handed it to Zachariah. He felt the heat from her body in the fibers, inhaled her smoky scent. She put on his brown coat. It fell nearly perfectly on her petite frame. She outstretched her hand for the shawl and wrapped it over her shoulders.

Thank you. You are very kind. She sighed. "Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to