There Will Be Stars
A star is beautiful…simply by being what it is. Thomas Carlyle
Chapter 1
The small brass key had probably once been buried deep in the soft Kentucky soil. The heavy rain from two days ago must have exposed it for the first time in years. Mingo leaned over and carefully pried it loose from its moldy bed with his long slender fingers. Then he stood and held it up to the fading April sunlight.
It did not look like a key that would open a door. It was small and finely made, almost fragile. There was no marking on it with the exception of a partial initial. Puzzling the find over in his mind, Mingo glanced at his mother's burial scaffold in the near distance. He had spent the afternoon beneath her bier, conversing with her in his memory.
The recent confrontation with his father, the Royal Governor of Virginia, left a bitter taste in his mouth that still remained. The titled Englishman was as duplicitous as always. His plan to displace hundreds of settlers from Ken-tah-teh opened all the shuttered memories in his mind. He was very uncomfortable at their re-emergence.
Turning the small key over in his fingers as he walked, he strode back to his lodge near his uncle's. He ducked through the narrow door and stretched out onto his woven willow bed. Lying with one hand under his head Mingo let his mind create possibilities for the key resting in his hand.
It was evident that no Cherokee buried this token of possession. If the key belonged to one of his people it would have been used as decoration for all to see, not buried. Cherokee people had no need for keys as they had no locks. Accumulation of wealth, though not unknown, was seen very differently than in European cultures.
For Cherokee people wealth was a symbol of power, true. But it was not used to elevate one member of the society over another. Rather it was evidence of skill in battle, evidence of one's leadership. Theft was virtually unknown within the town. A thief would be ostracized, the most shameful penalty imposed.
Mingo laid thinking as the last rays of the spring sun left his tiny window. The conclusion was unavoidable. The key had once belonged to John Murray, the Earl of Dunsmore. The only mystery remaining was whether the key had been lost or purposely buried. Sighing, Mingo turned to lie on his side as his eyes closed with weariness. He would think more about the key tomorrow. Tonight all he wanted was sleep.
He awoke hours later. Moonlight lit the interior of his small lodge. The stacks of books rose like pillars in the dim light. Memories fluttered from their closed covers like startled birds. With a sigh of resignation he rose and pushed his way into the coolness of the predawn. Moments later he was at the edge of the dense forest. A misty radiance glowed all around him.
The key rested beneath his belt, its rigid metal pressing into his side like a chastising finger. "You're not going to let me rest, are you?" Mingo murmured to the symbol of his father's presence. "Alright, I'll just have to discover your secret. Maybe that will be enough to bury you forever."
The bright-eyed squirrel in the ash tree above him cocked its head questioningly and chattered. Mingo glanced up and chuckled softly. "Confused? Me too. Why won't my mind release this grasping, pathetic man whose entire purpose in life seems to be tormenting me? He's like a ghost that burns away in the sunlight but returns in darkness to haunt me again and again."
The shiver that passed through his lean body could have been from the morning chill. But more likely it was caused by his uneasy reaction to the thought of ghosts. The Cherokee blood flowing through his veins made him very cautious about mentioning the unseen world. Henry Pitcairn's frightened white face floated through his mind. He too had been troubled by ghosts. With great effort he pushed the face away and straightened his vest. The hidden key poked uncomfortably into his hip bone.
Coming to a decision Mingo returned to his lodge, reached inside and removed his rifle. He swung his accoutrements over his shoulder. With long easy strides he walked to the northwest towards Boonesborough. If his suspicion was correct the settlers there could verify it. One of them would recognize what the key opened.
The early morning began to come alive with birdsong. He whistled along with the nesting birds and the hours sped by. The gates of Boonesborough came into sight before the afternoon sun slipped behind the trees. Striding through the open gates he saw both Daniel and Yadkin coming toward him from the tavern. The two men were embroiled in a heavy discussion concerning a mutual acquaintance from the Carolinas. Mingo stepped to the side to avoid being run down.
"Confound it, Mingo, I just about knocked you over! Where'd you come from?" Yadkin blustered.
Mingo grinned and faced the blonde frontiersman. "After all this time you don't know, Yad? And you're a grown man!"
Yadkin blushed scarlet at Mingo's double entendre. Beside him Daniel produced his crooked smile. "You're feelin' a bit feisty today aren't you Mingo?"
"Not at all. I was simply pointing out my surprise at Yad's innocence."
The two men laughed at Yad's continuing discomfort. Mingo slapped his friend on his buckskinned shoulder and suggested that the three of them return to the tavern. Daniel's eyebrows rose above his spring-green eyes but he turned and followed Mingo into the large establishment. Yad trailed behind, willing the blush to fade from his ruddy cheeks.
"What would you gentlemen like to have?" Mingo asked. "My treat."
Yad's blonde eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Your treat? I ain't agoin to let you off the hook now Mingo. I'd like a mug o' rum."
"Daniel?"
"I think a cup of tea would be better for me."
Yad grinned broadly. "Afraid of what Becky'd say about another rum, Dan'l?"
Daniel grinned in response. Mingo walked to the bar, ordered, then carried the drinks to the plank table. Yad grunted his thanks and took a long swallow. Daniel sipped his tea. Mingo did likewise, the full pot before him on the table. Now and then Daniel shot a questioning glance to the Cherokee at his side. Mingo noticed but gave no sign. When he judged enough time had passed in small talk he pulled the intricate brass key from his belt. "Daniel, Yadkin, I found this key buried in the ground just outside Chota. Do either one of you have any idea what it would open?"
Daniel took the key from Mingo's hand and held it in two fingers. Yad looked at the delicate object dwarfed by his friend's large hand. He shook his head and spoke to Daniel. "Kinda looks like a key to a little box of some sort, don't it Dan'l? Or maybe a trunk?"
Daniel nodded his head in agreement. "It does. But what kind of a box? And where is it now? You didn't find a box buried nearby?"
Mingo looked chagrined. "To tell you the truth, Daniel, I didn't look. I didn't think about it."
Daniel looked deeply into his friend's dark eyes. It was unlike Mingo not to think of several possibilities for a puzzle. This lack of care caused a small idea to grow in his mind. Mingo dropped his eyes, hiding from his friend. Daniel's suspicions grew immediately.
"Yad, I think I'm going to head on home. It's nearly supper time and Becky'll be testy if I'm late. See you tomorrow or the next day. Let me know if you remember the widow Billow's daughter."
"Dan'l, I done tole you that her name was Bessie. I distinctly remember. I called her Bee 'cause o' her two names."
"I think you're wrong. I remember her name being Evie. I thought of her every time the sun went down because of her name."
The two old friends gave every evidence of continuing their disagreement. Mingo rose impatiently and walked toward the door. Behind him Daniel scurried to catch up. After only a minute or two Daniel cleared his throat, preparing to explore the suspicions Mingo had aroused.
"Mingo, this key you found. You said near Chota. It wouldn't have been near the spot where your daddy lived with you and Talota would it?"
Mingo skidded to a halt and faced his friend. "What made you suspect that?"
"The way you're not meetin' my eyes for one thing."
Mingo pressed his lips together in aggravation. Silently he stared off into the deepening darkness. Sighing heavily, he admitted the truth to Daniel's words. "I will go back tomorrow and look for the box. I did not think of that possibility."
"I know it. That's how I figured out this key is connected to your daddy somehow. You're always so careful to think of all the possibilities. This time you didn't think of 'em at all. That means you're mighty troubled about something. And since we just got though havin' that set-to with your daddy, I figured it must be connected to him."
Mingo did not reply but dropped his eyes to Daniel's feet. "Daniel, everything about that man troubles me. Everything."
Nodding in understanding Daniel pulled his friend to walk beside him. Together they stepped onto the cabin porch. Israel burst from the interior and hugged Mingo's leg excitedly. Daniel grinned and patted his son's blonde head. "So I'm number two when Mingo comes, is that it? Givin' my hugs to this Cherokee. I've a mind to just turn around and go back to Cincinnatus."
"Ah, Pa, you know I'm always glad to see you. It's just I don't get to see Mingo as much!"
Daniel laughed and mussed his son's hair. Mingo squeezed Israel's shoulders affectionately. "How long are you stayin' Mingo? Can you take me fishin' tomorrow?"
"I'm afraid not Israel. I have a puzzle to solve. It's a mystery that I need to understand. Once I find the answer to the mystery I will take you fishing."
"Promise?"
"On my honor. But I don't know how long it will be."
"That's alright. Just don't forget!" Israel again hugged Mingo's long leg and the three entered the firelit cabin for a meal of squirrel stew, corn dodgers and a berry cobbler.
The warm friendship began to ease Mingo's mind and he gratefully settled into his accustomed place opposite Israel Boone. The evening progressed in familiarity. Soon he slipped under his blankets and fell into a restful sleep.