Beyond the Quiet Hills (10 page)

Jacob turned and said, “Annabelle, is that what you want?” Annabelle's eyes were bright with excitement, and he thought with astonishment,
Why, she's enjoying this!

She saw his sudden understanding of the situation and caught her breath for a moment. “It might be better if you both left.”

“No need for him to leave,” Jacob said stiffly. He turned, pulled away from Tom, and walked rapidly away. He heard Tom calling him, “Wait, Jake!” but broke into a half run. He did not go through the house but circled by the walkway, ignoring Tom's call and the high-pitched voice of Annabelle as he hurried down the street. Bitterness rose to bite at his throat like bile, and unbidden, the thought came,
It seems like I was born to be betrayed. First my father, and now Annabelle
. He shook his head to clear it, for bitterness and anger enveloped him like a dense fog. He knew he could not walk away from this forever, but he didn't have the will to handle it right now.

When he arrived at his house, he hoped no one would see him before he could change his clothes. He opened the front door very cautiously so that it would not squeak. He closed it and tiptoed as quietly as possible to the stairs. He was startled when Sequatchie suddenly appeared. The Indian took in the torn shirt, the swollen lip, and asked, “What happened to you?”

“Nothing!” Jacob said shortly.

“That nothing must have packed a pretty big punch. Did you lose any teeth?”

“Never mind. You can go ahead and tell my father now. I'm sure that's what you'll do.”

“It's not for me to tell,” Sequatchie shrugged. When the young man turned, Sequatchie followed him up to his room and stepped inside. “Are you hurt?”

“No!”

“You're angry, though. I can see that.”

“You'd be angry, too, if—” He halted abruptly, for the whole story of his betrayal had been on his lips. He turned and went over to the window, staring down bitterly. He was trembling with anger and did not want anyone to see him. “Why don't you leave me alone?” he said.

“Sometimes,” Sequatchie said quietly, “it helps to talk things out. Who did you fight with?”

“A fellow named Arthur Horton.” He turned and stared at Sequatchie, anger flaring in his eyes. “If you think I look bad, you ought to see him!”

“What did you fight about?”

Jacob found himself suddenly pouring out the whole story. He knew he could not tell his grandfather or his grandmother, and he certainly would not go to his father. Somehow the impassive face of the Indian who spoke gently encouraged him. Sequatchie stood like a statue, not a flicker of emotion in his eyes, as Jacob poured out his story, and then the boy flung himself into a chair and passed his hand across his face. “Now you can go down and report it all to my father!”

“Why would I do that? It would only hurt him. But if you would tell him, it might be good.”

“Stop trying to force my father on me! I'm sick of it!”

“No matter what you feel now,” Sequatchie said calmly, “Hawk is your father. And if you want to become the man that God has made you to be, you're going to have to accept that.”

“I can't do it! How would you feel if you were forsaken by your father?”

“I
was
forsaken by my father,” Sequatchie said flatly.

Startled by the simple statement, Jacob looked up and stared at the face of the Cherokee. He saw then, only for a moment, a break in the expression of the tall Indian and knew that he was not the only one who had suffered in this way.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I didn't know.”

Sequatchie did not answer right away. He stood looking down at the young man and thinking how much he looked like his father. Finally he said, “Only God can help you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Accept your father and love him.”

Jacob pulled his lips together in a straight line and said shortly, “God has never helped me.”

“You sound like your father did at one time.”

Jacob's head jerked at this. He did not want to be compared with his father, but Sequatchie was looking at him with a peculiar expression. He then said to the young man, “I'll make a pact with you.”

“A pact? What kind of a pact?”

“I don't know what you call it in English. If you'll do something for me, I'll do something for you.”

Curious, Jacob studied Sequatchie's face, then said, “All right. Tell me what's on your mind.”

“If you'll go back to the frontier with us, I promise to bring you back if you don't want to stay—after a reasonable time.”

Despite himself Jacob burst out, “A reasonable time? What's a reasonable time?”

Sequatchie did not answer. Although the boy did not know it, he was praying for this young man. He had learned to pray as he moved through life, and now he was asking God to do a miracle in Jacob's life. “Think about what I've said.”

“Well, all right. I'll think about it.”

“You'd better do something about that ripped shirt. Don't know what you can do about that lip.”

“You're not going to tell?”

“No. Change your shirt.”

Sequatchie left the room and immediately Jacob slipped out of his coat. His shirt was torn right down the front, and he walked over to study himself in the mirror. His lip was somewhat swollen, but perhaps he could get by with it. He slowly picked a light tan shirt off a peg and put it on. He thought about what Sequatchie had said. He buttoned the shirt slowly, thoughtfully, and realized that the last hour had changed his whole life. He knew now, with a dead certainty, that he could never feel for Annabelle what he had
thought
he had felt before. He was young and had little to do with girls, but he knew that he would be a long time forgetting her words,
Who else would I marry but you?
He had taken her for a flighty young woman, but now he knew that he had been mistaken. He shoved his shirt down in his pants and then stood uncertainly in the middle of the room.

“I don't have anything to stay in this place for,” he spoke aloud, and bitterness tinged his voice. A thought began to grow in him, and he had a logical mind that began putting things in order.
Maybe that Indian's right. If I leave with them, I won't have to say anything to anybody about Annabelle. Then I can come back one day, and by that time she'll probably be married to Arthur or some other dolt
. He moved around the room restlessly, thinking,
It doesn't have anything to do with my father
. Deep down he knew this was not altogether true, but he came to stand at the window and the thoughts moved slowly through his mind.
I don't want to go with him, and I'll never accept him as my father, but I'll at least get out of here until I get over Annabelle
. Somehow he knew that he was not being honest even with himself, for despite all that he had said and thought, there was a longing in him for a father. He buried this, however, and said aloud, “All right. I'll do it. But it's just for my own convenience. Not for
him
!”

****

A sadness lurked in Esther Spencer's eyes as she served supper. She had heard, of course, about Jacob's fight with Arthur. That could not be kept secret, and now as Hawk and Sequatchie sat down across from James, she wondered where Jacob was. She had seen him only once that day, and he had said nothing at all about his father.

James was feeling much the same way, and now he said quietly, “Perhaps we ought to try to talk to Jacob again. At least maybe we can convince him to come to you later.”

“No. I don't think so,” Hawk said quietly. “I believe we ought to leave the boy alone.” He tried to put a good face on it and added, “I know he's well cared for here. After all, that's about all I have a right to ask.”

He had no sooner spoken than Jacob entered the room. Hawk saw a strange expression on his son's face. He sat up straighter and his eyes narrowed as the boy, instead of sitting down, planted his feet and locked his hands behind his back.

“I've changed my mind,” Jacob said in a strange tone. He avoided his father's eyes and instead watched his grandparents. “I've decided to go to Watauga for a time.” Shock ran across every face—except that of Sequatchie. A slight smile turned up the corners of his mouth as he watched Hawk, who was staring in disbelief at his son.

“Well, I'm glad to hear that, son,” he said quietly.

Jacob said, “I won't be with you too long. Just for a while.” Then he turned to his grandmother, as if unwilling to face his father, and said, “Would you help me pack?”

“Of course I will. Come along.”

As soon as the two were out of the room, James said, “Well, miracles do happen.”

“I wonder what changed his mind?” Hawk asked quietly.

Sequatchie never said a word. He sat at the table smiling quietly and thinking about how God could change the hearts of young men.

****

“I'm going to miss you both.”

Now that the hour to leave the only home he knew had actually come, Jacob found it difficult to maintain his composure. All night long he had tossed on his bed, wondering what had possessed him. Several times he had actually made up his mind to go down in the morning and say that he had changed his mind again—that he actually did not want to go to the far valley of the Watauga.

Now, however, he found himself unable to do anything but stand before the two who had played such a large part in his life and struggle not to let the tears appear that burned in his eyes.

“It's going to be harder on us than it is on you, Jacob,” Esther said. She found it difficult to speak, for her throat was choked with emotion. She and James had talked until long in the night and prayed, hopeful that they were doing the right thing to encourage their young grandson to make such a drastic change in his life. Now that the morning had come and they were faced with the actual separation, it was almost more than she could bear.

James Spencer stepped forward and put his arms out, and Jacob embraced him quickly. He felt the quick strength in the young man's arms, and also the frustration and doubt that he was feeling. “I couldn't love you any more and couldn't be any prouder of you than I am. Just take care of yourself, Jacob.”

Jacob turned to his grandmother, embraced her, kissed her cheek, and then stood awkwardly in the center of the dining room. The remains of the breakfast were on the table, and he had been unable to eat more than a few bites.

“You must go now,” Esther said quickly. “They're waiting.”

The three made their way outside where Sequatchie and Hawk stood holding the horses. Jacob's own mount, a rangy old gray mare named Queenie, pranced impatiently, pulling against the bridle that was held firmly in Sequatchie's hand.

Over to one side Paul and Rhoda stood holding their own horses. They came forward now, and Paul shook hands with the two, while Rhoda was embraced by Esther.

Hawk stood watching all this, keeping his eyes on his son's face. Finally, before he swung into the saddle, he went forward and embraced his mother, then his father. “I'll watch him carefully.”

“Take care of yourself, son. And may God keep both of you,” James said.

Hawk moved back to his horse, slipping astride. He turned to Jacob, and the two regarded each other silently. Then Hawk said, “Let's go home, son.”

He got no answer, for Jacob's throat was too full to speak. As the small procession moved away from the Spencer house, Jacob turned back for a last look at the only home he had ever known. He waved at his grandparents and saw that his grandmother was being held tightly by his grandfather, as if she were too weak to stand. He turned his head away, unable to watch it more, and then the five clattered down the streets of Williamsburg, heading for the wilderness that lay across the misty mountains.

Chapter Seven

The New Family

“Are you getting pretty tired, Jacob?”

Shifting back and forth in his saddle, Jacob turned quickly to see that Rhoda had pulled her mare up even with his own. She was smiling at him, and he took in the clean sweep of her chin and the brilliance of her eyes, thinking, not for the first time, that she was very attractive for an older woman. He had expected to find a woman of thirty-six rather dowdy and had been slightly shocked by her attractiveness—and also by the liveliness of her mind. He had heard something of her past from his grandparents and from common gossip in the community, but looking at her now, as the afternoon sun filtered through the towering chestnuts and beeches overhead, he decided he liked her.

“I'm all right,” he said. He hesitated for a moment, then said, “I'm not used to riding this long at a time.”

“I know. It makes you numb, doesn't it?”

Jacob grinned at her and said, “I wish I
was
numb. It wouldn't hurt so much, then.”

The small party had been two and a half weeks out of Williamsburg. Jacob didn't realize that Hawk and Sequatchie had deliberately slowed the pace, knowing that Jacob would not be able to keep it up without showing the strain. All in all it had been a rather pleasant journey. The fall colors were fading now, but still the air was fresh and crisp with the ending of the season. Winter lurked over the low-lying hills ahead of them, and both Hawk and Sequatchie knew that in one night the cold breath could descend, paralyzing the land and freezing the grass into a crisp brown ash.

The days had been exciting for Jacob. He had somehow put behind him the apprehension that arose at the difficult adjustment he would have to make on the frontier. He found himself talking more and listening with fascination as Sequatchie would speak of the legends of his people at night around the campfire. Jacob had a faulty concept of what Indians were like. Instead, he saw quickly that Sequatchie's mind was quicker than his own. Though the tall Cherokee was uneducated in books, he knew every tree and animal, what the weather would be the next day, and how to find water. All the things that a lifetime of experience had taught him were there for Jacob to see. He listened avidly as Sequatchie told the history of his people and once said, “You ought to put this all down in a book so it won't be lost.”