Cherokee: Left Behind A Saga of the Trail of Tears

Early this morning, I ran to the clear waters of Sugar Creek excited to see how pretty I looked in my new birthday dress. Today, I am ten years old.

I heard noises I couldn't understand, moans, cries, wailing, and carryings on, the ricochet of gunshots, and distant explosions. I climbed the ridge and watched as a procession of my Cherokee people moved west along the road toward Gramma's farm carrying their belongings in large bundles.

Soldiers on horseback prodded the people with their long rifles and screamed at them to hurry up and move. I don't know why the soldiers forced our people to leave their nice homes, large farms, and businesses.

I watched my folks, and our neighbors huddle together as they marched. Pa led a portion of the tribe, while Ma walked next to him, her head high, tears streaming down her cheeks. My young brothers joined with other neighborhood boys as if they played a fun game.

What is this? My family and all of our friends and neighbors are out there marching away, leaving me behind!

Ma! Ma! I hollered, with tears running down my cheeks. "Wait for me! I want to go, too!"