Beyond the Quiet Hills (13 page)

“Well, don't get excited. You haven't been good enough to get any presents.”

“We'll see about that.” She continued to stroke her hair with the brush. It was thick blond hair with brown highlights, and it sprang back into waves as the brush passed over it. “What about Jacob?”

“He's trying. It's a big change for him.”

“Do you think he likes it out here?”

“I'm not sure. He likes some of it, but so much of it's so strange to him. He has to get used to a new family, and our ways are different.”

Elizabeth put the brush down and turned to him. She raised her arms and began to pin her hair up with hairpins. “You know, I have an idea. Why don't we have a big dinner? We'd all like it, and we could go to special pains for Jacob, making him feel at home.”

“That's not a bad idea. Who would you have?”

“Well, I would like to have—let me see.” Her lips pursed, and her eyes half closed as she went over the neighbors in her mind. “I'd like to have the Andersons and the Stevenses and the Beans, of course.” She thought awhile longer, then said, “Would it be too many to have the Robertsons and the Taylors?”

“If you like crowds, that ought to do it.”

“It'll be fun.” She came over, put her hands behind his neck, and looked down at him. “Would you go with me to invite them all?”

“Sure. Why not.”

“It'll be a good chance for us to check up on the Taylors. I'm not happy about the way things are going over there. Could we go this morning?”

“Sure. We'll go right after breakfast.”

She leaned down, kissed him, then smiled brilliantly. “You are a fine husband. Most men would hate doing something like that.”

“I'm a wonder, I am,” Hawk shrugged. “I'm glad you're learning to finally recognize it.”

They left the bedroom, and Elizabeth fixed breakfast while Hawk went outside to do a few of the chores. When he came back, Andrew and Sarah were up and already seated at the breakfast table. Jacob had joined them, and Hawk said cheerfully, “Good morning. I think it's going to be a great day. Did your mother tell you what we're going to do?”

“No,” Sarah piped up and looked at her mother. “What is it, Ma?”

Elizabeth was bringing a pan of biscuits from the hearth, holding them with a thick cloth. Setting them down, she examined the golden tops and shook her head, saying, “I think I got these a little too done.” Then she smiled and said, “Your father and I have a surprise for you. We're going to have an enormous Christmas party.” She went on to describe the event that was to come, then said, “We're going out today to visit everyone and give invitations. I'd like for you all to come.”

Sarah and Andrew were anxious to go, but Jacob said quickly, “If you don't mind, I think I'll stay around here. I don't feel too well.”

Elizabeth glanced at Hawk, for both of them knew that this was an excuse. Nevertheless, they sat down and, after the blessing, enjoyed the good breakfast. After they had cleaned up and gone out to make their visit, Hawk paused by Sequatchie where he was standing idly in front of the small cabin watching them leave. “Watch out for Jacob while we're gone.”

“I always will, friend.”

****

The sun had risen, and although it was cold and a brisk wind bit at their faces, the family had an enjoyable time. They had visited all of the prospective guests except the Taylors, and now they wound around the crooked path that led to the Taylor farm.

Sarah was sitting with Andrew on the brown mare, and as she swung with the rhythm of the animal, she said, “What am I going to get for Christmas, Pa?”

“You're not going to get anything,” Andrew answered before Hawk could speak. “You haven't been good enough to get a present.”

“I have so!” Sarah began to beat on Andrew's back, and he hunched his shoulders.

“Stop that or I'll throw you off!”

“Well, you won't get any presents by beating up on your brother, Sarah,” Elizabeth rebuked her daughter.

Immediately Sarah stopped and sat sullenly, but before they had gone another quarter of a mile, once again she was pleading to know what her presents would be.

Elizabeth was amused and irritated at her daughter, whose impetuousness matched her fiery red hair.
She's not like me. I don't know who she's like
, Elizabeth thought as she took in the pale green eyes and the fair skin under the bonnet that shaded her forehead and eyes.
She's not like Andrew. He's like his father. There must have been some wild man or wild woman back in my family tree
. She was concerned about Sarah, for despite a basic sweetness in the girl, there was a rebellious streak that surfaced from time to time.

“There's the Taylors,” Hawk said, interrupting her thought.

As they moved up to the small cabin across a yard cluttered with trash, Iris Taylor stepped outside the door to greet them. Instantly Elizabeth saw that she looked unhappy and apprehensive, but she smiled as she dismounted and went over and embraced the woman. “It's so good to see you, Iris. How are you?”

“Fine,” Iris said, but her eyes were fearful, and something in the tone of her voice was not right. She cut her eyes back to glance at the cabin, then made herself smile. “I'm glad to see you all. Won't you—” She broke off abruptly and Elizabeth knew she had been about to say, “Won't you come in,” but something had stopped her.

“We've come to invite you to a big Christmas party,” Sarah burst out. “We've asked everybody to come, and now you've got to promise, Mrs. Taylor.”

Iris hesitated. Most women would have answered in the affirmative at once, but at that moment Zeke Taylor came to the door. He was wearing a pair of shabby trousers, torn and ragged at the cuffs, and a heavy wool shirt missing several buttons, exposing dirty underwear, and the man had not shaved in several days. His eyes were hooded, and he said gruffly, “Hello.” He did not ask them to dismount and come in but stood glowering at them.

“We're having a big Christmas celebration, Zeke,” Hawk said easily. He sat on his horse loosely, his hands resting on the saddle horn. “We'd like to have you and your family join us.”

Taylor's eyes were filled with suspicion and something else. “Thank you,” he said shortly. “I reckon we'll be spendin' the holidays at home.”

“Oh, please, Mr. Taylor, won't you come? At least let Amanda come. Is she here?” Sarah asked.

“She's busy,” Zeke Taylor responded harshly. “Can't come to the door.” Taylor shifted his feet impatiently, and once again put a hard glance on Hawk, then muttered, “We've got things to do.” He turned to enter the door, then paused and swung around to face Iris, obviously waiting for her to join him.

At one time Iris Taylor would have instantly walked inside, but on the journey from the East she had gained some measure of self-confidence. It was not much, but from the time Hawk had held a knife to her husband's throat and threatened to scalp him if he ever laid his hand on his wife or daughter, a tiny spark of independence showed, as it did now.

“I'll be in in just a minute, Zeke.”

Zeke Taylor stared at her, and his body stiffened. “Hurry up, then,” he muttered. He wheeled and walked inside, slamming the door.

Iris swallowed hard. It had taken all of her courage to stand up to him, for he was a volatile man. “I thank you for your invitation, but I'm sorry, we can't come.”

Elizabeth instantly took Iris's hand and asked gently, “What is it, Iris?”

“It's . . . nothing. Just pray for us, will you?”

Hawk said instantly, “You know where to find me if you need anything, Iris.”

She cast a quick look at Hawk's face and murmured, “I thank you,” then turned and walked back inside the cabin, closing the door quietly.

Hawk and Elizabeth exchanged concerned looks, then it was Elizabeth who turned and said, “I guess it's time to go home.”

****

As the sun rose in the sky, pale and without much heat, Jacob wandered aimlessly around the homestead. During the weeks that he had been here, he had learned to know the farm and the surrounding woods very well. Now he paused to stare at the place where Hawk had told him a new barn would be built in the spring to house a cow and maybe some pigs. A brief flicker of interest came to him, and he found himself considering which direction it should face. Then he abruptly pulled his mind away, thinking,
I won't be here to see it
, and walked quickly down across the open space and into the woods of second-growth oaks and elms.

Reaching the small stream, he halted and stood looking down into it. He had enjoyed catching the fat pumpkinseed perch and now considered going back for a line and some bait. Finally he decided against it, then moving close to the stream, he reached down and let the force of the water form a furrow across his knuckles. It was icy cold, and on the sand just beneath the water's surface, a school of minnows remained suspended almost motionless, their shiny bodies flashing like raw silver. A sudden movement of his hand, and then they were all off, turning as one animal.
How do they know how to do that all at the same time?
Jacob wondered.
They always go the same way quicker than you can think
.

He rose and turned to go down the stream and then halted abruptly, fear leaping into his throat, for a man stood there. For a moment Jacob froze, and then he recognized Sequatchie. It irritated him that he had not heard the man, although he knew the Indian could walk silently, even through woods where his own feet crunched dried twigs and crispy leaves that had fallen earlier.

Sequatchie did not move for a time, and then finally he said, “How are things with you, my son?”

“All right.”

“They are not good between you and your father.”

“He's not my father!”

“Don't be foolish! He
is
your father! I'm surprised at you, Jacob!” Sequatchie's dark eyes took in the rebellious expression of the boy's face. “I thought you would gain some wisdom out here.”

Jacob shifted and was unable to meet Sequatchie's piercing eyes. He let his glance turn and studied a tall dead tree where a redheaded woodpecker clung to the side drumming. After a moment he turned and answered, his voice low and somewhat uncertain. “Nothing can ever give me back the years I lost. He owed them to me, Sequatchie, and he didn't pay his debt!”

“You must learn to forgive.”

“But he left me without a father!”

“You always have a father,” Sequatchie replied instantly. He felt the boy's gaze return and held Jacob's eyes as he pointed up, saying, “Your heavenly Father never changes. The Bible says that He is the Father of the fatherless.”

Jacob shifted nervously. He reached down, picked up a stick, and threw it in the water, watching as the concentric waves spread out. “How do the Indians know what the Bible says?”

Sequatchie shrugged slightly and spoke evenly. “A long time ago a man named Elmo McGuire came to my people. He brought a book with him, and many, including myself, learned to know the God of heaven and His Son Jesus Christ.”

“What happened to him, this missionary?”

“He died, then all we had left of him was the book, but no one could read it.”

“That must have been hard,” Jacob murmured.

“Yes, it was hard, but then something happened.” Sequatchie's face broke for a moment from its customary impassive cast, and a smile spread across his bronzed face. “Your father came along. He was running from God, but he could read the Book, and we made a pact, your father and I. I would teach him the ways of the forest, and he would read from the Bible to the Cherokee.”

Jacob was shocked but impressed. He had not known this part of his father's story. “Do you think God was in all of that?” he asked.

“Yes. I know it to be true.” Sequatchie went on to tell how on two occasions Hawk had been impressed by a vision of a deer. “But it may not have been a vision,” he said. “Whatever it was, God has used your father to help my people.”

Sequatchie seemed to be finished as Jacob stood in silence, thinking over what he had said. Finally Sequatchie added, “You may not like to hear all of this, and it was wrong of Hawk to leave you. But God used him, even when he was not obedient, to help my people.”

“I didn't know this,” Jacob murmured. Somehow the Cherokee's words troubled him. He had his mind made up to dislike his father, but the open honesty of Sequatchie and his obvious admiration of Hawk stirred him. As he stood there, a shrill scream split the air, and Jacob flinched and whirled to face the source of the sound. “What was that?” he gasped.

“That is what your people call a mountain lion.”

Even as Sequatchie spoke, a tawny flash caught Jacob's eye, and he saw a large cat leave the shelter of the trees. It was visible only for a second before it disappeared back into the brush.

“What's he screaming about?”

“It is a female. She has missed her kill, and her cubs will go hungry.”

“How do you know all of that?”

Sequatchie shrugged. “That is the way of the Cherokee.” He saw Jacob's eyes mirror disbelief and then added, “Your Bible will speak of this.”

“What do you mean? About a lion?”

“Yes. In the book called Psalms, one verse says, ‘The young lions do lack and suffer hunger: but they that seek the Lord shall not want any good thing.' Hawk has told me that the lions in the lands where the Bible was written are different, but to me God is telling us about lions. If you would turn to God for your needs,” he said abruptly, without warning, “you would not feel so empty inside.”

Startled, Jacob demanded, “How do you know how I feel?”

“Because my father died when I was very young, so I grew up without a father also.”