“And how is this clay jar going to help us?” Ulrich looked bewildered.
Tommy pointed to the front first. “You see, the first vessel that was found had almost identical snakelike drawings. But it did not have the bird designs on the back, like this one.” He motioned at the carvings on the rear side of the pot.
Clearly, the three men still had no idea where he was going with this.
“The stone that I found in Chatsworth had the exact same birds carved into it. Don’t you see?” His voice pleaded while his hands extended outward. “This means we are on the right track. The fact that this vase and the medallion have the same designs means the clues are related!” Tommy was ecstatic about the discovery.
“So, what do we do? Take the vase?” Ulrich took a step closer to the glass case, removing the gun from his jacket.
“No, no, no! Hold on a second,” Tommy got in his way and put his hands up to hold the blonde man back, a move his captor did not seem to appreciate as evidenced by the warning scowl on his face. Backing off a foot, he continued cautiously, “Look. We don’t need to take it. Just give me a minute.” Ulrich re-holstered his weapon, seemingly willing to wait and see what the archaeologist was going to do next.
Tommy took a step back away from the exhibit and looked around. Immediately, he noticed that there was no history placard or name plate identifying where the pottery had come from or why it was there. He retraced their steps through the corridor looking to see if there was anything that contained information about the vessel, but he found nothing.
Finally, he said, “I need to get the guy from the information desk in here.”
Ulrich looked at him suspiciously, deliberating over the request. Then, he nodded his approval.
Tommy strode back over to the giant exit doors and gently pushed one of them open. The hinges obviously needed some kind of lubricant as the portal creaked loudly. He poked his head out and noticed the park ranger looking directly at him. The squeaking must have gotten the man’s attention.
“Done already?” he inquired cheerfully.
“Actually, no. We had a question about something in here. Would you mind?” Tommy made a motion with his hand for the man to come over.
The ranger looked around. For whom, Tommy had no idea. Then he said, “Sure. What would you like to know?” He walked over to the doors and pulled them open to find the three men standing around the corner exhibit.
It seemed that the sight of the huddled group startled the ranger for a moment, but he recovered and continued into the museum. “So, how can I help you?”
The three captors remained silent. Again, it seemed Tommy would do all the talking. “We were wondering about this piece right here.” He gestured to the vase. “How come there isn’t any information about it? We thought that was strange. Sure is a spectacular piece, though.”
An odd look crossed onto the Indian’s face. “What is it exactly, that you want to know?’
The tone of the man’s voice had changed from helpful to almost sinister. Maybe it was just Tommy’s imagination, but the smile that had accompanied his jovial attitude had disappeared as well.
Stumbling through his words, Tommy said, “Well…where did it come from? How old is it? Who made it? You know, stuff like that?”
The smile returned to the weathered face, but there was something different about it. He eyed the other three men with a look that seemed like disdain. When his gaze returned to Tommy, it held a look of warning though his voice had become pleasant again. “It is a ceremonial jar that was kept here in the Cherokee capital for a very long time. As to who made it, no one really knows. But it is an excellent example of early 19th century Native artwork.”
Tommy looked skeptical; something didn’t seem right. “I’m sorry,” he paused slightly. “Did you say that it was early 19th century?”
“Yes. That is correct. The Cherokee were a very artistic people. There was an entire caste of artisans, sculptors, painters. Creativity was encouraged by the Cherokee culture.”
Tommy interrupted him, “Yeah, but I don’t think that this is actually 19th century. That can’t be right.”
An annoyed look passed across the man’s face. “I assure you, we have had the best experts in the region examine this, and they have all agreed to the same timeframe.”
“Well, I don’t know who these experts are, but I can tell you one thing: that vase predates the 19th century by at least, oh I’d say, a thousand years.”
For a moment, the ranger’s eyes squinted. Tommy’s comments seemed insulting rather than inquisitive. “Really? And what makes you think such a thing, if I may ask,” he responded, crossing thick, tanned arms.
“Well, first of all, as I was explaining to these gentlemen, this is an example of Weeden Island pottery. It’s from the early Mississippian Age, at the youngest. But from the expression of the lines and the type of clay that appears to have been used, I’d say this thing is way older. In fact, it resembles some items that I have seen at a dig site in Lebanon. Phoenicians made some containers that look very similar to this one. And those were about 3,000 years old.” He tried not to appear too much like he was correcting the man but this was an area in which Tommy considered himself to be a foremost expert.
Again, the look on the Indian’s face changed. This time, though, it was an acknowledgement. “Impressive, sir.”
Tommy was not sure how to react. Before he could, the ranger continued.
“It is indeed much older than 19th century. Although, exactly how old, I do not know. Since you seem to know much more about our history than the average person, surely you know this vase has a twin.”
The last comment urged an answer. Nodding, Tommy replied, “Vessel Number One. Yes, I’ve seen it.”
Apparently pleased, the man continued while the two flat tops and the blonde looked at each other, bemused. “This particular piece of work has an interesting history. Originally, it was brought here by the oldest of the Cherokee. It was said that they kept the bones of a great tribal leader within it. As the legend goes, this man was more a king than a chief. He ruled vast lands and was a great warrior. When he died, those who took over for him believed that if they kept his remains, the kingdom would be blessed for all eternity and that he would watch over it from his place in the afterlife.”
The ranger stopped talking for a moment and looked at the unassuming display, lost in thoughts that drifted through time. “This land we stand upon was considered holy by the Cherokee for thousands of years. Then, in 1838, the American Government took it all away. Their lust for Native treasures and land pushed the tribe west to Oklahoma.”
“But the vase remained here?” Tommy slipped the question in during a moment of reflection.
“No,” the reply was vacant. “It was taken to a safe place near here.”
“A safe place?”
“Yes. The Nation’s leader, John Ross,” he said, motioning at the wooden representation of the old tribal chief. “Ross knew that the people had been betrayed by some of their own and that soon, the United States government would force them to leave their land. So, he took their most sacred relic to the only place he thought it would be safe…a church.”
Tommy’s eyebrows furrowed at the revelation. “A church? I don’t understand. Why didn’t they just take it to Oklahoma?”
The dark-skinned man chuckled under his breath. To him, the answer was obvious. “This vase is as much a part of this land as the trees and the dirt beneath them. It was brought here by a great tribal leader and here it must stay for all eternity. Even though many traditions were lost through the years and several Euro-American ones were adopted, there are still others that remain and will remain until the end of time.”