Beyond the Quiet Hills (3 page)

Elizabeth turned and walked into the cabin, talking in an animated fashion with Sarah, who turned back over her shoulder to say, “You stay away, Hawk! You hear me, now?”

Hawk laughed and shook his head in wonder. “Andrew,” he said as they walked away together, “you always have to obey a woman when there's a wedding in the air!”

Andrew MacNeal nodded happily. Whatever Hawk Spencer said was gospel to him, for he idolized the tall long hunter. He had loved his father dearly, and after his death had suffered greatly, as if an enormous emptiness occupied his whole heart and mind. But now, as he looked up at Hawk, although he said nothing, he was thinking how good it was of God to give him another father.

Chapter Two

Two Become One

Zeke Taylor tilted his chair back against the wall of his cabin and watched as two scrawny pigs fought over a rattlesnake they had managed to kill. The shoats were rather pitiful creatures with sharp backs and beady eyes now reddened with anger. One of them had the snake by the head, another by the tail, and with their hooves braced, they were pulling backward with all of their strength, grunting and squealing shrilly.

Taylor had watched the two kill the snake by stamping on it with their sharp hooves, but now he tired of the spectacle. Leaning over, he picked up a chunk of wood and heaved it at the struggling pigs, yelling, “Get out of here with that snake!” The stick struck one of the pigs on the snout, and with a startled squeal, the animal dropped his end of the dead snake and backed away. The other fled across the flat ground in front of the cabin, disappearing in a thicket, pursued by his companion, both of them squealing in a high-pitched fashion.

“Ugly pigs! Ain't good for nothin'!” Taylor muttered. Pulling a knife from his belt, he began shaving long, thin curls from the cedar stick he held. He never whittled anything in particular or made anything useful, but whenever he was at ease, he made a pile of curled, fragrant shavings.

“Ezekiel? It's almost time to go. Come on and put on your suit.”

Taylor did not take his eyes from the cedar stick. He was of average height with a large paunch from years of heavy drinking, and now he muttered in a surly fashion, “Ain't goin'.”

“Why, you've got to go, Ezekiel.” Iris Taylor, at thirty-six, was fifteen years younger than her husband. She had dark hair and blue eyes and a thin face that retained some trace of a youthful beauty. Her loss of two sons and a difficult life with a drunkard for a husband had pared away all excess flesh and had quenched her spirit. At one time she would have taken the rebuke quietly enough, for Taylor had proved to be a brutal husband, often abusing her physically. Now as she stood there wearing a faded blue dress with white flowers, she hesitated, then said, “I wish you would go, Ezekiel. After all, they're neighbors.”

Amanda Taylor, aged thirteen, had come to the door, standing behind her mother. She was a tall girl for her age, with long, straight, very dark brown hair and large brown eyes. She stared at her father, thinking,
He won't go because he hates Hawk
.

In truth, Zeke Taylor did despise Hawk Spencer, for the long hunter, on the trip from Virginia, had confronted Taylor after the shiftless man had beaten his wife and daughter. Taylor had drawn a knife on him, which Spencer had simply taken away from him, and then holding it to the throat of Taylor he had said, “If I ever hear of you touching your wife or daughter again, I'll take your scalp! I won't kill you, but you'll have a hard time without anything but skin on top of your head.”

The memory was a raw wound in Zeke Taylor, and now as he looked up with his sullen muddy brown eyes, he said briefly, “You all go on. I ain't goin'.”

“Please, Ezekiel. We need to be friends with our neighbors.”

“Did you hear me, woman? You can go if you want to! Shut your mouth and stop naggin' me!”

“All right, Ezekiel.” Iris nervously stepped back inside the cabin and saw that Amanda's face was pale. Going over to the young woman, she put her arm around her, whispering, “We'll have to go by ourselves, Amanda, but we'll have a good time.”

“All right, Ma. I'm ready.”

“And you look real pretty, too.” Iris had worked long and hard making a dress for Amanda out of some material Elizabeth MacNeal had given her. It was a lightweight plum-colored homespun wool, with flecks of pink running through it. The dress had a high collar, long sleeves, a loose-fitting bodice, and a full skirt that came to the ankles. Black lace decorated the edges of the collar and the wrists of the sleeves. Reaching out, Iris stroked the girl's glossy brown hair and said with a half smile, “One of these days I'll be going to your wedding.”

Amanda ducked her head. “I don't know who'd have me, Ma.”

“Now, don't you talk like that, Amanda! You're a fine-looking young lady! By the time you get to be a full-grown woman, why, young fellas will be lined up to get to come courtin'.”

Amanda did not answer. Her spirit had almost been broken by the brutal treatment she had received from her father. It was manifested in her every move. She walked with her head down as if she were afraid to look up, and her shoulders were often hunched as if she were expecting a blow. Still, on this special day she did look fresh and pretty, and now she managed a smile. “All right, Ma, if you say so.”

“Come along. We'll have to hurry or we'll be late.”

As the two left the cabin, Iris said, “We'll come back as soon as the wedding's over, Ezekiel.” She received no answer, for her husband simply sat there adding to the pile of thin, curling shavings. Turning, the two hurried off, walking along the path that led to the eastern part of the settlement.

As soon as they were gone, Zeke stood up and stared after them. He slipped the knife back in his belt and walked aimlessly around the littered yard. A speckled chicken got in his way, and he swore at it, giving it a kick that sent it squawking through the air. This gave him some satisfaction, and he growled, “Get out of my way, chicken, or I'll wring your neck!”

As he wandered over the small farm, he thought back to the time when Hawk Spencer had held the knife to his throat and threatened to scalp him if he mistreated his wife or daughter again. It had gone hard with Zeke, for something in Spencer's dark blue eyes had warned him that he would do exactly what he said.

“Man can't do what he wants with his own family! Country's come to a pretty pass!” he muttered. A thought came to him and his muddy eyes lightened for a moment. Glancing around, he stepped more rapidly until he reached the woods that lay only a few yards past the front door of his house. He paused beside a hollow tree. Reaching carefully inside to the length of his arm, he grunted with satisfaction and pulled a brown jug from the hole.

“Now this is somethin'-like,” he said with satisfaction. He had not been drinking so much lately. As a matter of fact, he had not had a drink for over three weeks. But something about the wedding sat ill with him. He was irritable and angry, and as he lifted the jug, a baleful light gave his eyes a hard glint. He swallowed the whiskey and stomped his feet as the fiery alcohol hit his empty stomach. Expelling a huge breath, he stood there for a moment blinking his eyes as the raw whiskey bit at him.

Taking a deep breath, he thought again of the knife at his throat, and the memory was as bitter as gall. “One of these days we'll see, Spencer! It'll be you that gets scalped and not me!”

****

The small cabin that Hawk had made his home since coming back from his wanderings was no more than ten by twelve. The single room of the structure had a dirt floor, and only one window beside the door allowed in light and air. The furnishings were sparse and rough looking, handmade by Hawk himself. A table and two chairs were placed in the center of the room. A plain worktable with a shelf hung on the wall, while above, tin cups, plates, and a few pots and pans were suspended on pegs driven into the logs. One small bed was fastened to the back wall, bearing a corn-shuck mattress. The worktable was placed next to a small fireplace in which a fire crackled continuously, and over it dangled a cast-iron pot for heating water and cooking his meals.

Sequatchie was standing in the middle of the room dressed in full Cherokee chief regalia. At forty years old, this tall Cherokee had smooth bronze skin and dark eyes that revealed nothing unless he chose to let them do so. He had the typical square jaw and high cheekbones of his race. His face was long, but he had a broad forehead and an aquiline nose. His head was bald except for the topknot that hung down his back. The hair itself was jet black, and now there was a light of humor in his obsidian eyes as he studied Hawk Spencer, who was getting dressed.

Sequatchie had been Hawk's teacher in the wilderness, and now as he watched the tall man pulling off his buckskins and holding up the white shirt as if it were some strange, rather dangerous object, Sequatchie thought of how the two of them had become blood brothers. Sequatchie had saved Hawk's life, nursing him back to health with the aid of his mother, Awenasa, and he had never regretted it.

Andrew MacNeal stood with his back to the wall, also watching Spencer. “I've never seen you in a suit before, Hawk,” he said.

“Well, you won't see much when you do.”

Hawk slipped on the white shirt and then pulled on a pair of black broadcloth trousers. He picked up a string tie and stood before the small mirror and struggled to make it presentable. “I don't see why a man has to wear this outfit to get married.”

“Why don't you just wear your buckskins?” Sequatchie asked. “It's
your
wedding.”

“No, it's not. As far as weddings are concerned, as I've told Andy, a man doesn't have a great deal to say about it.”

He finally completed tying the tie just as the door opened and three men walked in. The room seemed very small then as Hawk stepped back to make room for them. One of them was Paul Anderson, his childhood friend, who had followed him from Williamsburg. At no more than five ten, Anderson was the smallest man in the cabin, with sandy brown hair and light blue-green eyes. Now he said, with a mischievous sparkle in his eye, “I thought you would have run away before this, Hawk.”

“Now, don't you start on me, Paul!” Hawk warned.

“All bridegrooms are fair game.”

The speaker was George Stevens, a tall man, over six two, with gray eyes and reddish hair turning gray at the temples. He had come to Watauga as part of the Regulators who had left North Carolina, and he, along with his wife, Deborah, and their daughter, Abigail, had become close friends with the MacNeals and with Hawk.

“I thought you'd be on my side, George,” Hawk said.

William Bean laughed aloud. A stocky man with a look of rough durability, Bean had founded the settlement at Watauga. Elizabeth had stayed with the Beans while Hawk had built the cabin, and now William said with a glint of humor in his gray eyes, “A bridegroom don't have any friends, boy.”

Paul Anderson could see the respect that this leader of the settlement had for Hawk Spencer and was glad of it. “You look very nice, Hawk. I'd forgotten how you looked in regular clothes.”

“I'm doing it to please Elizabeth. It's not my idea.”

A touch of amusement illuminated the ebony eyes of Sequatchie, although he did not smile. “Cherokee women try to please the men,” he intoned. “Not the other way around.”

All the men laughed, and Paul said easily, “Well, I think people are basically the same everywhere.”

“I'm glad we have a minister here to do the marrying.” William Bean nodded toward Paul. “What we need is a church and a full-time preacher.”

Paul shook his head and smiled briefly. He had heard this argument before. Both Bean and Stevens had tried to get him to stay and form a church, but he had felt the need to go with Sequatchie to preach to the Cherokee. Now he said, “Let's not argue about that again. This is Hawk's day.”

“I wish you'd ask around in Williamsburg when you go with Miss Rhoda to get married,” Stevens said. “Maybe you can find us a preacher there.”

“I'll ask around,” Paul agreed.

“It's not fair,” Hawk complained. “I've had to take all the ragging from every man in Watauga about getting married, and you're sneaking off to Williamsburg. We won't even be able to give you a shiveree.”

“That's why I did it,” Paul grinned. “I
hate
those things.” He grew serious then. “It's almost time. Hawk, you're new in your walk with the Lord. Would it be all right with you if we prayed for you to be the best husband”—his eyes then fell on Andrew and he smiled—“and the best father in all of Watauga?”

“I need it,” Hawk said.

He stood there quietly while the men gathered around him. They put their hands on his shoulders, and Paul Anderson prayed a fervent prayer that Hawk would find the way of the Lord in raising his family on the frontier. After the amen, Paul took a deep breath and said, “Are you ready, Hawk?”

Hawk rubbed his chin and managed a slight grin. “Well, I'm as ready as I'll ever be. Come on.” The men left as Hawk plunged out of the door, and William Bean said to his neighbor, “George, that's going to be a good family.”

As soon as he was outside, Paul said to Andrew, “You go get your mother and bring her to her bridegroom.”

“Sure, Mr. Paul.” Andrew darted off, and the men made their way to the stream where the wedding was to take place.

****

Elizabeth's cabin swarmed with women. Her daughter, Sarah, was there, her eyes bright with excitement. Sarah stood by Rhoda Harper, Paul Anderson's bride-to-be. Deborah and Abigail Stevens were there, as were Lydia Bean and Charlotte Robertson, the wife of James Robertson.

The room was filled with laughter, and Elizabeth stood in the center of it, somewhat nervous but happy that she had such good friends. She had on a dress she had made herself out of a homespun wool dyed a very light misty green color. The square neckline had white ruching along the edges, the sleeves ended at the wrist with a small ruffle, and the tight-fitting bodice with embroidered white flowers decorating the front ended at the waist in a “V.” The skirt was very full and also had white ruching and embroidery along the bottom edge.