"Were you afraid?"
"Afraid?" I turned and smiled questioningly at Amelia as she emptied dried bean pods from her apron into the large basket positioned between the garden rows. Peggy was just coming out of an adjacent row followed closely by Mary, both with full aprons.
"When the Creeks attacked long ago," she clarified.
"I was afraid but I was also angry," I responded, reaching out and picking a leaf from her hair. At her puzzled look, I continued, "I was afraid that Peggy would be hurt but at the same time I was mad about what had been happening to our friends and neighbors."
"Tell us the story?" Mary begged as she and Peggy reached us and filled the basked with the contents of their aprons.
Peggy and I each took a handle of the heavy basket and started toward the house. Mary and Amelia ran ahead of us, tagging and retagging each other as they ran.
Glancing over at Peggy, I smiled at my memories of her at six years old, never walking when she could run. At the porch, we dumped the beans on a large tarp and, taking a seat around the pile, began shelling beans. As they rattled into our pans, I began the story of what had happened those seven years ago when brother fought brother and family rose against family and the Creek Nation was never again the same.
I explained that during the summer of 1813, some Creeks living a long way north of us were mad that we were not acting as they believed we should. They did not believe we should raise livestock or grow crops like whites. Because of their beliefs they were called Red Sticks. Some Red sticks attacked Mr. Cornells' and Mr. McGee's...