Native Affairs by Doreen Owens Malek Page B

slaves.”
    “We have always loved freedom,” Fox responded softly, starting the motor and guiding the truck into the stream of morning traffic.
    “In 1817 Andrew Jackson invaded Seminole territory, on the pretext of tracking down fugitive slaves, and used that excuse to decimate the Indians. It was the costliest Indian war in U.S. history. Seven generals failed to conquer the tribe, which never surrendered.”
    His green eyes sought hers briefly, and then returned to the road. “You’re well informed,” he commented quietly.
    “I became fascinated with the history when I began studying the folk tales,” Cindy admitted. “How could anyone fail to sympathize with the plight of such a brave, independent people?”
    “Quite a few of your compatriots failed to sympathize with them at the time,” he said tightly, his strong brown fingers tightening on the wheel.
    Cindy felt her stomach muscles knotting. “You can’t blame all of us for that, Drew,” she said evenly, trying not to betray her emotion. “Would it be fair for me to hate present day Englishmen because their ancestors starved mine during the potato famine?”
    He sighed heavily, pulling to a stop at a red light. “Sorry,” he said huskily, reaching over to cover her hand with his. She smiled at him, and the bad moment passed.
    “I’m curious as to why your family is still in Florida,” Cindy said, daring to breathe again. “Weren’t most of the Seminoles removed to Oklahoma during the westward development? The ‘Trail of Tears,’ it was called, because so many died.”
    Fox nodded. “All but about fifteen hundred left for the West. The Foxes are part of the group that remained. They never gave up and they never left.”
    “Paula said something about that.” She studied his profile as the light changed and they moved forward again. “So I guess you’re a renegade, huh?” she asked him.
    He lifted a hand off the wheel and pointed his forefinger at her. “There’s another theory about the origin of the word ‘Seminole.’ Have you ever heard it?”
    Cindy searched her mind. “I don’t think so.”
    “It comes from the time when the Spanish ruled in Florida, before Jackson and company took over. The story goes that Seminole is a corruption of the Spanish word ‘Cimarron.’ Know what it means?”
    Cindy shook her head.
    “Wild,” he said, and grinned at her.
      She believed him.
    “Did you really live in a lean-to?” Cindy asked suddenly, remembering something else Paula had said.
    He took a left and headed out of town for the open road. “It wasn’t a lean-to, it was a chiksee.”
    “One of those open houses used in the Everglades?”
    He shot her an admiring glance. “Right. I wanted to see if I could build one from the ground up, and when I got finished I liked it so well I lived there for a while. The chiksee is very well adapted to Florida weather, with a raised floor and a roof of bark and palmetto leaves. But it got kind of buggy in the hot weather and I eventually traded it in for an apartment.” He laughed softly. “I guess I don’t have the stoic endurance of my forebears.”
    “You must share my fatal weakness for air conditioning,” Cindy commented, and he laughed again.
    They were traveling on a thin strip of paved road through the scrub pines and date palms that comprise most of the vegetation of northern Florida. Occasionally a cypress would sweep its lacy tresses to the ground, creating a cool pocket of shade within its drooping branches, but the landscape was mostly covered by the tough cow grass that could survive for long periods without water. Cindy opened the top button of her lightweight sweater; it was already hot, and promising to get hotter.
    “It’s only June,” Fox said, noticing her action. “Wait until August.”
    “I think I’d rather not,” Cindy replied faintly. “I melt in the heat.”
    “I think it’s heredity,” Fox observed. “Northern Europeans seem to thrive in a cooler,