Lott? What’s goin’ on?” exclaimed Jake.
“Mamma’s comin’! Mamma’s comin’ to visit us next summer. She’ll be here the first of July. She’s comin’ to Coontail, Miss’sippi,” shouted Lott grabbing Jake by the hand. In a burst of excitement the two then began dancing a Scottish jig their mother taught them in Savannah.
The women up at the house thought the men must be hitting the jug again or had gotten into one of the large wasp nests under the barn roof. They were relieved and excited as the rest when they heard the reason for their unusual behavior.
Jake, Minsa, and Homer left the first day of November and headed north. They followed the Natchez trace as far as the middle of Tennessee where they met Mister Jacobson and from there rode into the eastern section of Kentucky. In what has been called “the blue grass country” they found exactly the horse they wanted, but it was priced higher than expected. It took all the money they had plus two of their own horses to acquire the animal of their dreams.
With only one saddle horse left and the magnificent thoroughbred they had no intention of riding, they set out south for Coontail. On the long trip back, two would ride and one would walk leading their prized possession.
Without money, the group had to hunt for food and sleep under the stars. Minsa, used to the outdoors, proved valuable to Jake and Homer in placing food before them each day.
Never had there been a happier group than the one that arrived on the 25th day of February 1851, at the front steps of the Wilsons’ home.
The family rushed out to greet the dirty, ragged group that had been gone for almost four months.
Standing before them was the tallest, finest looking animal the family had ever seen. He stood over sixteen hands tall, completely black except for a small white star between his eyes and another patch of white on the back of his right lower leg. Not only was he beautiful, but spirited and strong as well. He was something to behold.
Jake led the stallion up to Hatta. “I want you to meet the newest addition to the family. You name him, if’n you please.”
Hatta walked close and gently stroked his nose and patted his neck softly and whispered into his ear, “Your name, my hoofed brother, will be Lightning. You will strike and run quickly as a bolt of lighting streaks across the heavens with power of gods behind you. You and your offspring will bring glory and victory to our family. You will never be defeated.”
HOMECOMING
January through march were dreary months in the east central Mississippi hillcountry but as spring approached, excitement over the arrival of “Mama Wilson” (as the boys called her) kept them going. The men worked late into the night with the plowing and planting. They planned to give the matriarch their complete attention so Lott arranged for Minsa to employ several of his clansmen to take care of the animals and fieldwork during Mrs. Wilson’s three week visit.
They had also begun to breed the new stallion to the strongest and fastest mares in their herd. Jake was looking forward to seeing his mother, but down deep, he was just as excited about the foals that would be born next winter. He knew he already had some of the fastest horses of the traditional stock in his section of the state and by breeding his choice mares he was anticipating colts that would become the premier attraction in country racing.
Minsa and Lott had built a race track on Minsa’s property where the Choctaws had in years past come together for their fierce and competitive stickball games. It lay next to the Little Chunky River where sparkling, pure water was available for watering the horses and the spectators as well.
The settlers had devised three different types of racing. One was the dash where horses would race on a straight away for a distance of a quarter of a mile. This race was usually scheduled for the first event of the afternoon. The second race was a two mile run on the track that encircled the old ball field. This was a popular event and like the dash, observers could see the entire race from sitting underneath huge oak trees that bordered the river. But, the most popular and dangerous race, was the hillrun. A committee met before each race and mapped out a route that would cover no less than five miles and would involve racing the horses through the rugged hills and hollows, swamp bottoms, and through several creeks and streams that flowed across the woodlands. Each time, the committee tried to pick a different and more challenging route.
Since the hillrun was the longest and most dangerous race, more money was bet on it. Many times a horse and rider were tumbled to the ground when the horse either stepped in a stump hole or simply lost it’s footing when descending one of the steep hills. Quite a few riders had been seriously injured during past runs, and several horses had to be shot after breaking a leg.
Jake made his top earnings on the hillrun. Not only did he have one of the fastest horses, but with Minsa as his rider, he had the advantage of Minsa’s knowledge of every inch of the forest. When given a good horse, it was hard for Minsa to lose. But Jake seldom raced his finest animal because of the danger.
Jake had won large sums of money at the races, but it was a mystery to the family as to where the winnings were being spent. Eventually, Lott began to put the puzzle together but wished his brother would confide in him.
On one afternoon, a severe April thunderstorm forced Lott and Jake to seek shelter in the barn until the rain slacked.
“Jake, I want to talk to you about sump’n that’s been botherin’ me for quite a spell,” Lott said, as he sat in the hallway attempting to roll a smoke.
“I know what you gettin’ at. It’s been botherin’ me too. Mamma’s comin’ and I don’t know what she’s going to think about me marryin’ up with a Choctaw. And you know Homer don’t quite look like them other boys ‘round here either. What’s she going to think, Lott?”
“Jake, don’t worry none about that. Hatta is some kind of a fine woman, and Homer, well, you won’t find a more handsome and pleasant young’un to be around. Give Mamma a few minutes with him and she’ll love him to death,” assured Lott. “Mamma looks at a person’s heart, not what they look like. You keep forgettin’ too, Hatta’s father was a white man. It ain’t like she’s full Choctaw, and it won’t make no difference if’n she was.”
“Lott, I hope you’s right. I want things to be just right when Mamma gets here. I want her to be proud of me and my family. I’ve caused Mamma a heap of heartache, disappointment and worry through the years, and I want to show her I got my life straightened out. As Mamma used to say, ‘Walkin’ the straight and narrow”
Jake paused a moment then chuckled, “Well, I try to walk it most of the time, I guess.”
“Jake, what I want to talk to ya about ain’t concerning Hatta or Mamma. I been wonderin’ about what you doin’ with all that money you been winnin’ at them races. You know, we’s more than partners, we’s also brothers. Our earnings on the farm, we share, and yore racin’ money is yores, and it ain’t none of my bus’ness what ya do with it.”
Jake, seated on the ground across the hall from Lott, picked up a piece of straw and began to gently chew on its stem as he spoke.
“Lott, what I’m going to tell ya, you ain’t going to understand, but I want you to hear me out. I’ve learned to love and respect these here Choctaw people and through Hatta and Homer, I feel a part of them. The gov’ment and our own folks ain’t treated them fair. They pushed them off their land and those who did decide to stay, well, they is still cheating the hell out
