“Sequoyah invented an alphabet for the Cherokee language. Hang around long enough and someone will buy you an ashtray decorated with the symbols,” she said.
“What was Sequoyah's family name?”
“You want my final answer?”
“I'm serious.”
“Guess.”
“This is important,” I hissed.
“His name was Guess. Or Gist, depending on the transliteration. Why?”
“Jeremiah Mitchell's maternal grandmother was Martha Rose Gist.”
“The potter?”
“Yes.”
“I'll be damned.”
“You know what that means?”
I didn't wait for her answer.
“Mitchell was part Cherokee.”
“This is a library!”
Iris's words scorched the side of my face.
I held up a finger.
“Hang up instantly!” She spoke as loud as a human can without using the vocal cords.
“Is there a newspaper printed on the reservation?”
“The
“Gotta go.” I disconnected and shut off the power.
“I'm going to have to ask you to leave.” Iris stood with hands on hips, the gestapo protectress of the printed word.
“Shall I return the boxes?”
“That will not be necessary.”
It took three stops to find what I needed. A trip to the offices of the
The Cherokee Historical Association had pictures, but most had been taken as promotional shots for the outdoor theatrical production
I hit pay dirt at the Museum of the Cherokee Indian, directly across the street. When I repeated my request, I was taken to a second-floor office, issued cotton gloves, and allowed to graze through their photo and newspaper archives.
Within an hour I had confirmation.
Martha Rose Standingdeer was born in 1889 on the Qualla Boundary. She wed John Patrick Gist in 1908 and gave birth to a daughter, Willow Lynette, the following year.
At the age of seventeen, Willow married Jonas Mitchell at the AME Zion Church in Greenville, South Carolina. Their wedding portrait shows a delicate girl in a cloche veil and Empire gown, a bouquet of daisies in her hands. At her side stands a man with skin much darker than that of his bride.
I studied the picture. Though rawboned and homely, Jonas Mitchell was appealing in a strange sort of way. Today, he might have modeled for Benetton ads.
Willow Mitchell gave birth to Jeremiah in 1929, died of tuberculosis the following winter. I found no mention of Jonas or his son after that date.
I sat back, processing what I'd learned.
Jeremiah Mitchell was at least one half Native American. He was seventy-two years old when he disappeared. The foot must surely be his.
My deductive centers logged in immediately. The dates didn't correlate.
Mitchell went missing in February. The VFA profile gives a postmortem interval of six to seven weeks, placing the death in late August or early September.
Maybe Mitchell survived the night of the Mighty High Tap. Maybe he ventured off, then returned and died of exposure six months later.
Ventured off?
On a trip.
A seventy-two-year-old alcoholic with no car or money?
It happens.
