Beyond the Quiet Hills (11 page)

“It will not be lost. We do not have books—not yet,” Sequatchie said, “but it is all in the stories of my people. They are told around campfires and will be as long as the wind blows and the waters flow.”

Paul had also watched Jacob Spencer carefully. He had some apprehensions, for he knew the bitterness that lurked below the surface of the young man's polite manners. Of all the men he knew, Hawk Spencer was the one he admired most, and it was imperative to Paul that he do all he could to help restore the relationship between the two. He had not spoken of this to Hawk, for the two men understood each other. However, one night as he slept beneath warm blankets with the campfire crackling, he asked, “What do you think of Jacob, Rhoda?”

Rhoda moved against him, holding him tightly. “I think he's a very troubled young man, Paul. He speaks so stiffly to his father.”

“Yes,” Paul whispered. The wood crackling in the fire punctuated the silence of the night, and overhead a ghostly form crossed the skies, blotting out the moon for a second, a great hunting owl out for his prey. Paul watched it as it disappeared, then put his lips on Rhoda's smooth cheek. He had not gotten over the marvel yet of the love that had come to him, and now forgetting the conversation, he whispered, “I love you, Rhoda.”

“I love you, too, Paul.”

****

“Well, there it is. There's Watauga, son.”

Jacob looked up quickly, taking in the small collection of rough cabins that followed the bend of a creek. There seemed to be no pattern in the town, and he was somehow troubled by what he saw. His concept of a town was Williamsburg, all laid off in neat, geometrical streets, each house taking a certain amount of space, and each street intersected by others with different names.

What lay before him was nothing like that. Smoke curled up in a haphazard, twisting fashion from almost all of the chimneys, and between the cabins only a few figures could be seen moving. Somehow the picture in his mind had been of a well-organized village. Watauga was nothing but a scattering of rude cabins punctuated with small out-buildings, all very roughly built.

“It doesn't look much like Williamsburg, does it?” Hawk said wryly, noting the look of surprise on Jacob's face.

“It's so small!”

“The biggest settlement this side of the mountains,” Sequatchie said. “Look, there's our welcoming committee.”

As the procession wound its way around a crooked trail into the village, two men advanced to meet them.

As soon as they were close enough, Hawk said, “Hello, William. How are you, James?”

William Bean and James Robertson stopped, and Robertson smiled slyly, saying, “Welcome back, Reverend—and you, too, Mrs. Anderson. I want to wish you a happy marriage. Wish I could have been at the wedding.”

William, with his wife Lydia, had established the settlement. He and Robertson were two of its prominent leaders.

Rhoda had wondered how she would be accepted as the wife of a minister, but the teasing smile in the eyes of Robertson gave her reassurance. She returned the smile, then listened as Hawk introduced his son to the two men. She was thinking,
I wonder if the women will be as kind as the men. They usually aren't
. She thought, however, that she knew the women of the Watauga settlement, and a glance at her new husband gave her a sudden sense of joy and acceptance.
It will be all right
, she thought,
as long as I have Paul
.

“What's been happening since we've been gone?” Hawk asked, slipping off his horse. He slapped the animal on the neck and listened as William Bean spoke. He noted a rather worried look in Bean's eyes.

“Well, Hawk, there's a man come here named Alexander Cameron. You know of him?”

“Can't say as I've heard of him.”

“He claims to represent John Stuart, the Indian superintendent for the south.”

“I know Stuart. He is a good man,” Hawk replied. His mind suddenly flashed backward to the time when he had been with John Stuart. Stuart had been the British captain who had led the force to recapture Fort Loudon. For just one moment he seemed to hear the explosion of muskets and the screams of the dying and the wounded. Hawk had this strange characteristic of re-creating involuntarily scenes from his past, so that now it seemed as though he could smell the burning gunpowder and feel the slippery body of the Indian under his as they struggled for life. All these came back to him in a flashing, dynamic moment. Shaking his head slightly, he listened carefully as Bean continued.

“They've been surveying the whole area, Hawk.”

“What are they doing that for? It's already been done.”

James Robertson spoke up almost angrily. “They say there's some kind of discrepancy as to who has the rights to the land settlements. We told him the settlements are on the land that was promised, and what remained was for the Cherokee.”

“Stuart negotiated a treaty with the Cherokee after they were defeated in 1761,” Hawk said. “What are the settlers doing?”

“Nothing much. Waiting to hear from the results of this survey. It's called a Donelson Survey. I guess that's the name of the fellow who's drawing it up.”

Hawk and Paul listened closely, well aware that this could mean serious changes in all of their lives. If the government decided that the former survey was wrong, all the work they had done on their homesteads could be lost.

Hawk shook his head, saying, “I've got to get home. We'll talk about this later.”

“Come along, Rhoda,” Paul said. “It's time for us to set up housekeeping.”

Rhoda smiled as he drew his horse around, and she followed him.

“We fixed their cabin up for them real nice while the preacher was gone to get married, Hawk,” Bean said. “The women cleaned it up, and we've got plenty of meat in the smokehouse. I wish they'd stay there permanently and start a church here.”

“They won't do that,” Hawk said firmly. “They'll stay there this winter, but in the spring they'll go to the Cherokee, preaching the gospel to them. Isn't that right, Sequatchie?”

“Yes. My people must hear the Word of God. I'll spend winter in Hawk's old cabin, and I will go with them in the spring.” His eyes followed the couple as they left, and he was thinking, with joy, what it would be like to have a minister among his people who so desperately needed the living God in their midst.

****

Andrew MacNeal was splitting red oak firewood as the sun sank down behind the low-lying western hills. It was a chore he liked a great deal for some reason. Sawing the trees off into lengths with a buck saw was not as enjoyable. That was pure work, but now he planted his feet firmly, lifted the heavy ax, and, after measuring the distance to the chunk of wood before him, brought the ax down smartly. The blade struck the upright wood with a
chunking
sound, and the two fell splinterless like two pieces of cloven rock. This gave Andrew a great deal of satisfaction. Reaching over to pick up another chunk, he began to sing under his breath a snatch of a song he had heard at one of the rare dances held in the settlement. His blond hair fell over his forehead, and he brushed it back, then split another block of wood. As the two pieces leaped to the side, he heard a voice and turned quickly with an alertness that had not been there. Automatically he moved toward his left, reaching for the musket that was leaning up against a sapling, his clear blue eyes attentive and watchful. Then he saw the two tall men exiting from the patch of woods on the east of the farm and cried out, “Hawk!” Dropping the ax, he stepped forward, his face alive with pleasure as he waited. He took in the third rider and thought,
That's got to be Jacob. Ma said that Hawk might bring him back to live with us
.

“Ma—Sarah, Pa's back!”

Almost at once the cabin door swung open, and Elizabeth came out. She was wearing a simple gray dress with a white apron, and her hair was bound up and crowned with a small white cap. Andrew grinned at the expression on her face and watched as she flew across the yard to where Hawk came off his horse in one smooth movement. He moved over toward Sarah and nudged her in the ribs. “I think he's glad to see her, wouldn't you say?”

“Hush, Andy!”

Elizabeth was a loving woman and usually more conservative in physical demonstrations of her affections. Now, however, she threw herself into Hawk's arms, reached up and pulled his head down, and kissed him firmly. The lean strength of his body was something she had longed for, and she had not realized until this minute how deeply her life had become one with this tall man.

“I missed you,” Hawk whispered tenderly. Then he seemed to be the one embarrassed by the embrace. He glanced quickly at Jacob, and with his arm still around Elizabeth, he said, “I brought Jacob back with me. Jacob, this is your family. This is Elizabeth, and this is Andrew and Sarah.”

Jacob nodded and murmured a vague greeting and then watched as his father threw his arm around the blond-headed young man. Somehow the action stirred a displeasure in him. It was not that he himself would have endured the same kind of caress from his father, but deeply seated was the resentment that another was getting the affection he had been robbed of all of his life.

As Hawk put his arms around Sarah and whirled her around, laughing as she squealed, Andrew came forward with his hand outstretched to Jacob, putting a big smile on his face.

“Glad to have you, Jacob. Welcome to Watauga.”

A perverseness seized Jacob, and he held his hand out limply and allowed Andrew to shake it. He felt himself taken by an instant dislike for his stepbrother.

He doesn't mean all this
, he thought.
He doesn't care whether I'm here or not. I never could stand a phony!

Andrew seemed unaware of any coolness on Jacob's part. “It'll be good to have another fellow around my age,” he said. “Especially since we'll be brothers now.”

At the use of the word “brothers,” the dislike that Jacob had first felt intensified. He opened his lips to say, “We'll never be brothers,” but then clamped them together firmly.

Sequatchie, standing off to one side, had observed all this without moving. His quick mind understood at once, and he felt a disappointment that Jacob had so hardened himself against the family that was so willing to receive him.
He will have to learn better
, he thought silently.
He can't live by himself. No man can do that
.

Elizabeth, without turning loose of Hawk's arm, said, “Now, you come right in the house. It won't take long, and we're going to have a welcome-home dinner.”

“I will come later. Perhaps tomorrow,” Sequatchie said. He turned and walked away without even another word, and Elizabeth looked toward Hawk with a question in her eyes. “What's wrong with him?”

“I guess he's been in civilization long enough,” Hawk said quietly. “I know how he feels. I never saw so many people in all my life. For a while all I want to see is trees and mountains—and you, of course.”

Reaching up, Elizabeth grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head. “You better put me on that list!” Her eyes sparkled and she leaned against him, reveling in the touch, and then said briskly, “Well, come along. It'll be ready soon.”

An hour later Jacob was sitting at the table, which was loaded with food. A large venison roast had been cooking slowly over the fire all day and was now placed on a large platter and sliced into juicy, thick slabs and put on the table. A pie tin containing a large beefsteak pie, with a flaky crust and flavored with parsley, marjoram, savory, thyme, and butter, had been made the day before and was now served cold along with the rest of the meal. Bowls of sweet potatoes covered with slices of tart apples, and green beans in a cream sauce decorated the table with their bright colors, and a brown crock of baked pumpkin pudding filled the air with its rich aroma. Freshly baked bread was served with thick butter and preserves, and mugs were filled with steaming hot tea.

Jacob had been bombarded with questions about “civilization” by Sarah and Andrew and had been unable to avoid answering them. He felt awkward and ill at ease, and now as they began to eat, he was glad they were listening to Hawk as he spoke of the trip.

“Oh, I have letters from your family,” Hawk said. “You want them now or after supper?”

“Let me read them now. I've been worried about them.”

Hawk rose and went over to the pouch he had tossed down beside the fireplace. Opening it, he removed an oilskin package, took out several letters, and moving back, he handed them to Elizabeth. She began reading as the others went on speaking, mostly Hawk relating to Sarah and Andrew the wonders of Williamsburg. The first letter she read was from her father. It was very brief, and the handwriting was shaky. It said basically that he missed her and prayed for her every day, and that he hoped she could come back for a visit.

The letter from her mother was much longer. Elizabeth's mother, Anne Martin, wrote well, and with a certain verve:

My dearest daughter, Elizabeth. As you know, we were taken by surprise to learn that you were to be married again. So often when a woman has a good marriage she will marry again, and I know you and Patrick were completely happy with each other
.

I still grieve over the loss of Patrick, and I am certain that you do also. But I hope both of us will remember that he is with the Lord Jesus Christ now and in the presence of God, as we both shall be someday. And he would not have us to grieve, but to go on with life until that day when we will all be in our Father's house
.

I wish I could bring you better news about your father, but William is not doing well physically. He has had several bad spells over the past few months, and each time leaves him a little weaker. I pray that God would let me keep him for as long as it is His will, for I would be lost without him
.