"Jack, are you certain this is a good idea?" Minnie asked as she lifted Jack's carpetbag and set it in the backseat of Donovan's automobile. "Mr. Cartwright might demote you or fire you by the time you get back."

Jack strapped a straw hat to her head with a blue ribbon beneath her chin. "Oh, no he won't. I've been there longer than anyone besides you and we'll only be gone a few days."

"People will talk, Jack. You know that."

Of course, running off to an Indian reservation with Donovan would do little to improve her reputation, but Jack didn't care what Irvington thought of her. She cared about what was best for Donovan, and with the Slate brothers in town, he had to get out of Irvington for a few days. Besides, from the very moment she discovered that he was Powhatan, Jack had longed to visit Donovan's people. The circumstances were not ideal, but still--Jack and Donovan were taking a journey to the Powhatan reservation in King William.

"I know they'll talk, but they've talked before and they'll talk again," Jack said, tossing her woolen frock into the back seat.

"This is different, Jack, and you know it. People will think you're shacking up, and you'll never hear the end of it."

Jack's face turned crimson. "Well, we aren't."

"I should hope not," Minnie said, running the back of her hand across her sweaty forehead. "But heed my words, Jack. This won't improve your lot. Why don't you let him leave? You going with him is only going to make the gossip worse."

Jack was going with Donovan because he asked her to and because she wanted to; what other reason did she need? She merely ignored Minnie and turned towards the Bookers' house to find Donovan approaching them.

"Are you ready, Jack?" he asked, doffing his hat at Minnie as he started the Ford's engine.

"As always." Jack climbed in beside him, holding her hat to her head with one hand. "Bye, Minnie. Don't worry about us too much."

Minnie waved at Donovan and Jack as they departed, and Jack felt something jump in her throat. Had she lost her mind, running off with Donovan as soon as the Slate brothers appeared? Did this only make him look guiltier than he was? Even her nieces hadn't understood the reasoning behind Jack's sudden departure, and if her closest friends didn't understand, who would?

Nonsense, Jack told herself. No more regrets. You made your choice, and you'll enjoy it. Over the rushing wind and hum of the motor, Jack hollered, "Tell me about King William?"

Donovan turned to her, his black hair blowing across his face. "It's a troubled place, Jack. The Slate brothers and men like them have taken over and my people are poor. There's no future for us there." The gravity of the words struck a dark note in his tone but then he smiled, changing the subject. "I'm glad you'll be there with me, Jack. Soka will be pleased to meet you."

As Donovan drove the car onto one of the main roads leading northwest, the noise drowned out any hope for conversation. Jack embraced the rush of the road and the absence of talk and leaned her head back on the edge of the seat. She tossed her hat to the floor of the automobile and let the wind rush through her hair. The strong breeze and the hum of the engine replaced her anxiety with exhilaration.

Donovan.

While Jack certainly wasn't in love with the man, she liked him, perhaps more than any man she'd ever met, even more than Roy. Who would have thought that after all the years discarded on an abandoned shelf, her dusty heart was still capable of such emotion? Still, there were secrets to be uncovered and histories to be divulged. So much resided in Donovan beyond the surface and Jack's heart beat faster at the prospect of uncovering more about him.

Hours passed in the automobile as Donovan left every horse and buggy in the dust. They left the main road in the early afternoon, turning onto a dirt path marked by ramshackle fences. The reservation.

"This is it," Donovan said, slowing the car as he pulled into the fenced land.

Before they entered the fence, Jack gasped, her fingers curling over the door of the car. A large black sign, glossy and garish, declared "Slate Manufacturing" and stood next to a sharp, concrete building right next to the fence. Dread washed through Jack when she saw the building. These were the men who had killed Donovan's brother, who were ransacking the Powhatans.

"This is them," Jack mumbled, pointing to the building. In the distance, larger buildings loomed against the horizon.

Donovan rested his hand behind Jack's shoulder on the edge of the seat, touching her shoulder. "That's them. They're expanding, making farm equipment."

"But why here? Why not in--in a city or somewhere people don't already live?" Jack sputtered, eying a man who spat tobacco on the ground and then entered one of the buildings in the distance.

Donovan's eyes clouded. "Cheap labor. They take our land and then hire us to work at half wages, us and the blacks nearby. Cheap land, cheap labor. They don't care who they starve or displace or even kill. Willie showed us that. The Powhatans are so afraid of the Slate Brothers that they're willing to give away their land if the brothers leave them in peace."Donovan clenched his left hand over the steering wheel and tensed his jaw.

"That's--that's terrible! Why won't anyone stop them?"

"Because no one cares about us, Jack. Not the Indian Council, or the local government, or..."

Jack wanted to tell Donovan that she and others like her did care, but what could she do? She was a woman--she didn't even have the right to vote. Until the United States started listening to people like Donovan and Minnie, atrocities like this would continue to spread and people would be manipulated and abused. Jack just wanted to march back to Irvington, take the Slate Brothers by the ear, and ring their heads together. It wouldn't do any good, but a little justice is better than none.

"Come on, Jack. Let's go. This is--I don't want to think about this. Let's go see Soka."

Donovan revved the engine and roared through the fence. The reservation was filled with houses, gardens, and livestock and the land was barren from overuse. Some of the houses were the traditional Powhatan wigwams, poled structures strung with mats or skins, but others lived in more modern homes, wooden structures like Jack. A chicken squawked as Donovan touched the brakes to avoid running it over. A few children tossed a ball back and forth, shrieking in pleasure. An older woman bowed over a fire, stirring a pot.

The reservation was a mixture of contentment and desperation--children laughed, but a thin cow moaned in hunger. A lusty fire roared, but the land was desolate and a lone woman harvested a meager crop of carrots. At the entrance of the automobile, most of the Powhatans stopped to stare--Jack wasn't sure what was more surprising, the shiny new automobile or the blonde-haired white woman sitting inside of it.

One woman dropped her plow and straightened her back, studying Donovan instead of Jack with a careful air.

"Kitchi, you're back," she said.

Donovan stopped the car and turned it off, climbing out of the automobile and helping Jack down. He faced the woman, her dark hair lined with gray and pulled away from her clear face, wrinkles around her eyes.

"Makka."

"You're here to see Soka?" she asked, eyes still not moving to Jack. "She needs you."

"I couldn't come back until now. You know that," Donovan said, looking towards the buildings owned by Slate Manufacturing.

"You bring danger to us all by coming here."

"I don't mean to. Tell no one I am here and I'll be gone tomorrow. I had to see Soka. I had to get away. They want me dead and they've followed me."

The words brought a tightening around Makka's mouth and she nodded. "Go see Soka and leave. You know you're not welcome here."

Jack studied the exchange, the tension nearly palpable between the two Powhatans. She understood Makka's bitterness--Donovan had abandoned the Powhatans when he was young and only returned to bring danger upon their reservation.

"I'll leave tomorrow," Donovan said, squaring his shoulders. He returned to the car and climbed inside and slamming the door shut behind Jack.

"And who is this white woman you bring to our land?" Makka said before he started the engine. "Have you no respect for your people?"

"I have every respect for the Powhatans," Donovan said, turning the key. "That's why I've brought her. She needs to know, to understand."

A few moments later, Donovan and Jack left Makka in the dust and proceeded deeper into the reservation. This section was heavily wooded, no good for farming or habitation. The car worked slowly on the narrow road and Jack wanted to use the lowered volume of the engine to ask Donovan about the conversation with the Powhatan woman, but she owed him her respect and trust. He would tell her when the time came.

The road narrowed and Donovan finally stopped the car, turning off the engine. "We'll have to walk from here," he said, the first words he'd spoken since the earlier altercation.

Jack nodded and dismounted, carpetbag in hand. "How far are we?"

"Not far," Donovan answered, walking ahead of her.

Jack hurried to catch up with him, her eyes scanning the trees in search of Soka's house. SHe nearly tripped over a root that intersected the path, and Donovan slowed to wait for her when she stumbled forward.

"I'm sorry, Jack, I'm just--" Donovan paused, running a hand through his hair.

"I know," Jack said, smiling at him and hefting the bag under her arm. "Let's go see Soka. Wherever she is."

Donovan gestured forward. "Just ahead, behind these trees."

Jack squinted and stared, finally catching sight of a narrow wisp of gray smoke leaking into the sky, and she followed Donovan closer. Soka's small wooden home was nestled in the trees, nearly invisible to passerby. A small garden with a broken down fence sat behind the house and an outhouse was further in the woods, but little else besides the wisp of smoke gave evidence of habitation.

"Soka?" Donovan called, walking to the front door and pounding on it with his fist. "It's Kitchi. Are you here?"

A small woman in a maroon dress appeared in the door frame, her figure wiry but upright. Her long hair was tied in a single braid down her back, and she carried a woven basket against her hip. When she saw her brother-in-law, Soka dropped the basket and rushed towards him, throwing her arms around his shoulders and crying out. Quick-spoken Algonquin passed between Donovan and Soka as she rested her hands on his shoulders, her dark eyes quick.

"Soka, this is Jack," Donovan said, gesturing for Jack to approach the house.

Jack realized how very ridiculous her presence was and she clutched her bag to her chest as if she could shrink behind it. Who was she to pretend to understand their travails, to act like she knew them and their people? She was nothing more than an eager outsider who had yet to find her own place in the world.

Soka's eyes swept from Jack to Donovan and back again. Finally, she smiled and gestured Jack forward. "I love Kitchi, and so I love you. Come in."

Jack was stunned by the woman's welcome and could scarcely move until Donovan put his hand on the small of her back and ushered her forward. Soka brought them into her house, dimly lit by the fire in the hearth and the light of a dirty window. She gestured for them to sit on the chairs next to the fire, draped with tanned animal skins. They sat, and Soka brought them milk.

"Why are you here?" Soka finally asked, her eyes on Donovan. "Do you wish to die, and bring your beloved to death as well?"
Jack flushed at the title and Soka's acute appraisal. Donovan did not start at her statement but stared into the fire, drumming his fingers together.

"They came after me when I went to the Bookers, Soka," he said. "I had to leave for a few days, so I came here. To make sure you were alright."

"They want revenge," Soka said.

"So do I." Donovan murmured between gritted teeth.

Soka stood with her back to the fire, the light glinting off the beaded necklace she wore around her neck. "Kitchi, they came back."

Donovan stood up and turned the chair over in his haste, his face washed white. "Here? They came back for you? Are you okay?"

Soka held up her hands and squared her small shoulders. "I am fine, Donovan. They wanted you, and they wanted the land. I would give them neither."

"Why don't you leave, Soka? Come with me and we'll--we'll find someplace better."

Soka frowned at him as she turned to stir a pot hanging over the fire, shadows playing across the wrinkles around her eyes. "Leaving here would be leaving Ahanu, and I can't do that to him."

"They'll come back, Soka. They want us both dead, and they want this land. They won't give up."

She tilted her head towards him and smiled. "Well, you are a lawyer, Donovan," she murmured with a slight smile. "I'm sure you'll be able to stop them and protect us."

Donovan sighed and rest his head in his hands, the weight of the world on his shoulders. "If there are any of us left to protect at the end of this."

One of the most rewarding parts of this story was the chance to learn more about racial discrimination in the early 1900s even though that history is full of sorrow.  I had no idea how white Americans abused their political and economic power over various minorities. Hopefully you'll learn something as well as you keep reading. Things have gotten better, but we still have a long way to go!