Beyond the Waterfall - Historical Fiction Novel by Marnie Pehrson, Cherokee History

New Release: Based on a True Story

NOTE: Beyond the Waterfall is based on a story of the author's 3rd great-grandmother, Jemima Elliott, who was a quarter Cherokee; and the famous Eastern Cherokee Council Chief, Joseph Vann, and legends of Cherokee treasure hidden behind a waterfall in Northwest Georgia.

Beyond the Waterfall
By Marnie L. Pehrson
Paperback ISBN: 0-9729750-7-1
136 pages
Suggested Retail: $8.95
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.

What readers are saying about this title:

"I love it!!! It's wonderful. Your imagination is absolutely amazing. I love the way you blended all of these stories together. I loved the characters. Loved the time they met at the waterfall. Enjoyed the way he is so in love with her and your expression of how he looks at her. It was all very passionate, but definitely not too much." - Joyce Pierce, Houston, TX

"I thought this book was very intriguing. My Father-In-Law has mostly Native American blood running through his veins and you can tell just by looking at him! I was thinking of what his ancestors may have gone through as I read this story. Marnie did a great job of pulling the reader into the story as if you were right there watching it all unfold. Also, I could feel every emotion Jillian was feeling. From anxiousness to excitement to worry and fear. At times I felt as if my heart was beating just as fast as hers or Jesse's! I appreciated Jesse's example of the kind of love we should have for everyone. He looked inside a person to see what they were really like, not what was on the outside. He was willing to help no matter what. Great story. Loved it!" - Cheryl S.

"Absolutely loved it! The history really made it interesting." - DJ Salt Lake City

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.

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“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 United States and served as Chief of the Eastern Cherokee Council. She felt honored to travel in his company and pondered on the ramifications of what he had told her earlier in the cave. What would become of her people should they be driven from their lands?

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 noon . If you’ll prepare a picnic lunch and spend the afternoon in my company, you may have the comb.”

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 noon ,” he instructed as if he were simply arranging for the delivery of merchandise at a specific time and location.

“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.