Chapter 45: Family

“Honestly,” the young Jackson muttered from her cell as she changed her bedridden brother’s bandages, “the British should at the very least give us some proper medical supplies if they’re not going to even bother to deal with the small pox spreading around camp.”

Jackson heard footsteps from behind. She looked back to see the prison guard stepping to their cell.

“It’s your lucky day, brats,” the soldier remarked, unlocking their door. “You two just made bail.”

Jackson scrunched her face in confusion.

“What do you—?”

“Baby!” a woman screamed, diving into the cell and holding Jackson in her arms.

“Mom!” Jackson exclaimed, hugging her back. “I missed you so much.”

“You too, baby!” Lizzie Jackson cooed. “I’m just so glad to see you’re doing alright.”

Lizzie stepped back, taking a more careful look at Jackson’s frail, dirt-covered body. Robbie let out a fit of coughs, drawing Liz’s attention over to him.

“Oh dear,” she mumbled, placing her hand on Robbie’s forehead. “This isn’t good…this isn’t good at all…”

Lizzie took Robbie in her arms and carried him out the prison, carefully placing him atop one of the two horses she had parked outside the grounds.

“Come on Andrea,” she spoke to Jackson. “Go and saddle up.”

Jackson looked to her mother’s horse with a frown.

If I take this steed, she thought, then mom will have to walk back all the way on foot…

She looked over her mother’s narrow frame and haggard face with care.

…and her condition hardly seems any better than that of Robbie’s…

“…no thanks,” Jackson spoke up, “I wanna stretch out my legs for a bit.”

Her mother stared at her dumbstruck.

“What in the world are you saying, darling? Why, you aren’t even wearing any shoes!”

“It’s fine,” she replied, digging her feet into the ground. “I like feeling the dirt between my toes.”

Lizzie tried to object, but stopped as Robbie let out another violent cough.

“We don’t have time to argue,” she remarked, hastily mounting onto her horse. “Just promise me that you’ll tell me the moment you need a break!”

Jackson gave a slight nod, her mind already set on walking the full 45 miles back on her own two feet.

And indeed: despite all the blisters on her feet, despite the lumps forming in her throat from the vile disease spreading through her body, and despite a sudden storm pouring down and nearly throwing the travelers off course; Andrea Jackson would go on to walk back in bare feet from the moment they left the prison to the moment she stepped into their home.

“We made it,” Andrea Jackson screamed, smiling between a set of heavy coughs. “We finally made it!”

She turned around to share in the joy with her family, only to find Robbie and Lizzie’s lying on the ground next to their horses.

Jackson dropped her smile, rushing out and dragging them inside as fast as she could. But it was already too late: the raging storm near the end of their journey had pushed Robbie and Lizzie’s fragile constitutions to their limits. Thus, despite Jackson’s best efforts in nursing them back to health, Robbie and Lizzie, the last surviving family of Andrea Jackson, died within hours of arriving home.

Jackson never would complain about her situation, nor would she shed so much as a single tear over the loss of her family. She couldn’t afford to show that sort of softness if she wanted to survive the harsh American frontier all on her own.

Still, every so often, Jackson would think back to that tragic day; her mind playing the last words her mother ever spoke to her on loop.

“Andrea,” Lizzie spoke wearily, “if I should not see you again…I wish you to remember to avoid quarrels…but if you ever must vindicate your feelings or defend your honor…keep thy wrath…and keep it calm...”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

In the present, Davis’s spirit face contorted into a scowl as Jackson weaved through each of her attacks.

“Stay still you heathen!” she screeched in a high-pitched wail.

“Come now, Davis!” Jackson replied with an effortless grin, “Your moves seem to have lost the flair they had at the start of the match! Perhaps you should lie yourself down and take a small rest. Here…let me help!”

Jackson lunged ahead, kicking Davis’s body and skidding it back across the floor. Davis’s spirit flew towards Jackson in retaliation, but Jackson twirled herself around, sidestepping the charging specter before starting up a sprint for Davis’s body.

“It’s over!” Jackson shouted, leaping at Davis and throwing her heaviest punch of the match.

The audience sat on at the edge of their seats, yearning for the moment Jackson’s fist would smash Davis’s face in.

But, to nearly everyone’s surprise, Jackson’s torrential blow did not land.

Yes, despite all the strength Jackson put into her punch, despite Trail of Tears pushing her muscles many times further than they were at the start of the match…Davis’s body had once again caught hold of Jackson’s fist, her arm refusing to bend under the weight of Jackson’s titanic punch.

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Rage. The claim that Andrea Jackson has control over their rage is mostly fictional. Indeed, Andrew Jackson would take part in over a hundred duels during his lifetime. However, there certainly are moments where Andrew showed great restraint. For example, after receiving a series of vicious attacks, Andrew Jackson wrote “…all my enemies expect is, to urge me to some rash action, this they cannot do until the election is over." Similarly, the last word his mother ever told him was “If you ever have to vindicate your feelings or defend your honor, do it calmly. If angry at first, wait till your wrath cools before you proceed.”