She left the bedroom, followed by Hawk. He built a fire quickly while Elizabeth began to gather the ingredients to make breakfast.
Hawk went over to stand behind her, put his arms around her, and whispered, “I hate to leave you, Elizabeth.” At that moment a knock at the door sounded, and immediately it opened. Sequatchie entered and stood still, looking at the two. He had spent the night in Hawk’s old hut, and now he stood gravely studying the pair. Hawk was never quite sure what lay behind Sequatchie’s impassive features. Most Indians could put on a poker face, and Sequatchie accomplished this better than most. Now Hawk thought he saw a gleam of amusement in the dark eyes of his friend.
“We can leave if you’re ready,” Sequatchie said.
“No, you’re not leaving now,” Elizabeth said, pulling away from Hawk. “You’ve got to have a good breakfast first.”
The two men sat down, and Elizabeth, in her determined fashion, threw herself into the task of preparing the meal. Huge slabs of bacon were soon crackling and sputtering in the frying pan over the fire; potatoes and eggs were sizzling in bacon grease; corn cakes and fresh sourdough bread, which Elizabeth had prepared the night before, filled the room with the scent of baking along with the strong aroma of coffee. She began putting the food on the table, setting out fresh butter and honey for the bread.
They were halfway through the meal when the Stevens family arrived with Andrew and Sarah. The two youngsters had been staying with them for a week so that Hawk and Elizabeth could have, more or less, a honeymoon. They had seen the children every day, however, and now Elizabeth said, “Come in. There’s plenty to go around.”
The Stevenses sat down at once, as did Andrew and Sarah. The table was crowded, but a warm, pleasant air filled the cabin. As Hawk ate, he thought how wonderful it was to have a family and good friends.
Andrew had plopped himself down next to Hawk, and now he said urgently, “Pa, please let me go to Williamsburg with you.”
“Now, Andrew, we’ve been over that—”
“I know, Pa, but I would love to see it again.”
“I’ll take you some other time, son. Somebody’s got to stay and take care of your mother and your sister.” He turned to the boy and said seriously, “You have to grow up early out here. I know you’re only fourteen, but you’ll be the man of the house while I’m gone. Don’t you understand that?”
Hawk’s steady eyes held Andrew. The boy suddenly felt proud that he would be in charge, and he said, “All right, Pa.”
“You’re not bossin’ me, Andrew!”
Sarah, always ready to defend her rights, glared at her brother from across the table. Her fiery red hair caught the gleams of the sun, and she stared at Andrew wickedly.
“Now, Sarah. You listen to your pa,” Elizabeth said. “If he says that Andy’s to take care of us, then that’s the way it will be.”
“I don’t need any taking care of!”
The argument went on until the sound of approaching horses caught Hawk’s attention. He got up and looked out the door, then said, “It’s Paul and Rhoda.”
Elizabeth got up at once and met Rhoda with a hug as she entered the door. “I wish I could be there for your wedding, Rhoda.”
Rhoda whispered, “I wish you could, too.” But there was something in her eyes that troubled Elizabeth; however, she said nothing and urged the pair to sit down and have breakfast.
Finally, when the meal was finished, Elizabeth said, “Come back in the bedroom. I have a present for you, Rhoda. Just for the new bride.”
Rhoda followed Elizabeth, who showed her into the small bedroom, then shut the door. She waited until Elizabeth went to a chest, opened it up, and came back with a package wrapped in brown paper and tied with a red ribbon.
“Here, this is my wedding present to you.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t have done it! You’ve done so much for me already.” Rhoda opened the package, and when the paper fell away, she gasped at the beautifully embroidered white nightgown. “Oh, it’s so beautiful! Did you make it yourself?”
“Yes, I did, and I want you to have it.”
Rhoda clasped the nightgown to her breast, and suddenly her eyes were pools of doubt. “I just don’t think I can do it, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth knew at last that Rhoda had to speak. The troubles that weighed heavily on the young woman were obvious, and she said quietly, “I think you need to tell me what’s bothering you, Rhoda.”
“It’s . . . it’s Paul,” she said, her head downcast as she stared at the gift she felt unworthy to accept.
“What about Paul?” Elizabeth urged. “Is he troubled about something?”
“No, it’s not really him. He seems so happy. It’s me, Elizabeth.” Rhoda lifted her hand in a futile gesture, then dropped it again. “You know what my life has been. I’m just not a . . . a fit wife for a preacher.”
Elizabeth had suspected that this was what had been troubling Rhoda, and now she went closer to her and said, “Here. Sit down on the bed. I want to talk to you, Rhoda, and I want you to listen very carefully.” When the young woman sat down, Elizabeth began by saying, “We are all unworthy before God, every one of us. The Scriptures say there’s not a just man on earth that doeth good and sinneth not—and that means women, too. And the book of James says, ‘Whosoever shall keep the whole law yet offend in one point, the same is guilty of all.’ Do you understand that?”
“No. What does it mean?”
“It means that some of us commit what people call the worst sins, but others commit those that aren’t so looked down on in society. But in the sight of God, when we sin, no matter whether the sin is bad or not so bad, we’ve all broken God’s law. So someone who commits murder is a lawbreaker, and someone who says an unkind thing about his neighbor is a lawbreaker. Do you see? We classify sins, but God doesn’t do that.”
“I . . . I don’t understand. Aren’t some sins worse than others?”
“I suppose some sins bring more disaster into our lives. If you murder someone, you’re liable to get hanged for it. If you only gossip about them, or are unkind, that won’t happen. But in God’s sight, it all comes from a heart not right with Him. It’s all lawbreaking and must be confessed to Him so it can be forgiven.”
For a long time Elizabeth sat there speaking quietly to her friend. She quoted many verses about God’s love and abundant mercy to forgive and encouraged her. Finally she said, “Rhoda, remember. It was Mary Magdalene, a scarlet woman, no more than a prostitute, who brought the good news of the resurrection of our Lord Jesus to His disciples. Think about that.”
As Rhoda listened, a ray of hope began to appear in her eyes, and she looked up, her hands clasped tightly together. “Oh, Elizabeth, I do so want to be a good wife to Paul.”
“You will be.”
“But all the men—”
“Don’t think about that. Shut the door on it. If the devil comes to you and reminds you of your past, tell him he’ll have to go to Jesus. You’ve given everything to the Lord. You truly are clean and forgiven now. He doesn’t remember what is under the blood.”
Rhoda’s eyes became misty. “Can I really do that, Elizabeth?”
“Yes!” Elizabeth said firmly. “We’ll pray that God will make you the best wife who ever lived—that you and Paul will have a wonderful family, and that you will never again go back and dig up these old things from your past.” She bowed her head and prayed fervently, “Dear God, I pray you keep this woman safe. You have cleansed her as white as the snow through your blood, Lord Jesus. And now give her strength to be a good wife to Paul, who will serve you as your minister. In the name of Jesus, I ask it.”
Rhoda reached over and clutched Elizabeth tightly. “Thank you, Elizabeth,” she said in a choking voice. “I . . . I think I can do it now.”
It took some time for Rhoda to compose herself, but finally the two women went out and Elizabeth saw that the men had been waiting for her. She went over to Hawk and said, “You take good care of these
two, and of yourself.”
“I will.” Hawk looked at Andrew. “Son, remember. Take care of your mother and your sister while I’m gone.”
“I will, Pa.”
They stepped outside and Hawk, Sequatchie, Paul, and Rhoda mounted the horses. Rhoda Harper looked at Paul, who smiled at her, and then she turned again to Elizabeth. “Good-bye, Elizabeth . . . and thank you.”
As they rode away from the small homestead, Paul finally asked, “What did you and Elizabeth talk about?”
Rhoda smiled mysteriously. “She was just giving me some sound advice on how to be a good wife.”
Paul urged his horse closer to hers. He reached over and took her hand and held it for a moment. His plain face was wreathed with smiles, and a gleam of happiness sparkled in his eyes. “You’re going to be the best wife a man ever had! You’ll see, Rhoda . . . !”
Chapter Four
Sixteenth Birthday
Jacob Spencer woke up with a violent start. He had been dreaming something and could not remember what it was—except that it was very bad. He shook his head and passed a trembling hand in front of his eyes. For some time he lay there, half opening his eyes as the familiar shapes of his room came into focus. He stared at the white ceiling, which sloped from one end of the room down to meet two small windows along the back wall. The dark blue and burgundy curtains stirred gently as the frigid morning air seeped into the small upstairs bedroom. He studied the burgundy wallpaper, decorated with tiny figures of animals in dark blues and greens, and his eyes swept around the room and took in the familiar images—the hardwood floor covered with the rag rug his grandmother had made, the oak tester bed that dominated the room, the walnut dressing table covered with a snowy white quilting, and the Chippendale easy chair covered with dark green horsehair.
“Sixteen years old.”
Jacob spoke the words aloud and stretched, his lean body pushing against the top of the heavy bed frame, and thought about how he had looked forward to this day. Somehow, when he was just a child, he had decided that when he got to be sixteen he would be fully grown, a man, and had even announced this to his grandparents. His grandfather had smiled at him and said, “Sixteen seems a long way, Jacob, but it’ll be here before you know it.” Well, now it was here, and he tried to examine his feelings. From downstairs he could hear the sounds of people moving, and from the window, which was cracked open, despite the cold, he heard the clatter of horsehooves as a wagon rumbled by on the street outside.
Finally he threw the quilts back and shivered at the bite of the cold air. Quickly he dressed, putting on a pair of heavy wool pants and a cotton chambray shirt. He moved over to the washstand, added fresh water, bent over, and bubbled and spewed as he washed his face with the icy water. Then he straightened up and looked into the brass-rimmed mirror fastened to the wall beside the washstand. What he saw was a carbon copy of his father. His grandfather had told him that he looked almost exactly as his father had when he was a young man. He had the same dark, wavy hair and dark blue eyes that his grandmother had told him about. At the age of sixteen he was only an inch short of six feet. He was lean and wiry and had the same cleft in his chin that his father had.
He had noticed all the traits he shared with his father when Hawk had come last year to visit. Every moment of that single visit was etched in his memory. He remembered when his father had left again and had not offered to take Jacob with him. He remembered weeping bitter tears as he watched from his window that day. He had not wept since then, however, but the thought of his father always brought a mixture of anger and regret.
A knock at the door startled him. Whirling, he said, “Come in, Grandma.”
The door opened and Esther Spencer stepped inside. She was a small woman of fifty-nine, and her brown hair was now streaked with gray. She had light blue eyes and a pleasant smile, as always. “Breakfast is ready, Jacob. But first I came to wish you a happy birthday.”
“Thank you, Grandma.” Jacob went over and put his arms around her. She was so small, she seemed almost like a child. He leaned over and kissed her cheek and squeezed her. “Sixteen years old! A full-grown man!”
“Well, we’ll see about that. It’s not a matter of years, but how you behave.” Esther tried to be firm, but it was impossible for her to be very strict with Jacob. She reached up and stroked his cheek, murmuring, “You’ll be shaving soon.”
“I already have,” Jacob grinned. “Last week. Feel the stubble?”
“My, think of that!”
“I think I’ll raise a beard that will come down over my belt, like a mountain man.”
As soon as he said this, he thought of his father, and some of the light went out of his eyes. Nevertheless, he pushed the feeling away. “I’m so hungry I could eat a horse!”
“We don’t have horse this morning, but how about flapjacks and ham?”
“Sounds good. Let’s go get started.”
When they went down the stairs and into the dining room, they found James Spencer already seated at the table. He was sixty-one now, and his hair was silver. Still, there was a commanding presence about him. He was one of those men who, as he grew older, did not lose his physical strength nor his mental alertness. “Well, sixteen years old, eh? Happy birthday, Jacob!”
“Thank you, Grandpa.” Jacob took his seat and waited until after his grandfather had asked the blessing. Then he reached over, speared three flapjacks, and plopped them down on his plate. As he was cutting them up, his grandfather lifted one eyebrow.
“With your hearty appetite, I doubt you will ever starve to death,” he said, smiling.
Picking up the jug of maple syrup, Jacob poured a liberal stream on the flapjacks until all were soaked. He stuffed a forkful into his mouth, then picked up a chunk of ham and bit it off.
“I see your manners haven’t improved,” James said wryly. “Don’t you want to cut that ham up into pieces?”
“Nope! It all goes to the same place, Grandpa. It doesn’t make much difference how it gets there.”
The two older people watched Jacob eat with gusto, and finally Esther asked, “Are you excited about the party this afternoon?”
“I guess so.”
“What about your friend Tom Denton?” James asked. “Will he be there?”
“Oh yes. He’ll be there.”
Esther winked at her husband and then asked idly, “What about his sister, Annabelle? Will she be coming, too?”
Jacob glanced up, and seeing the smiles on the faces of both grandparents, he swallowed, and his face grew a dusky red. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe she will be.”
Seeing the boy’s embarrassment, Esther quickly turned the conversation to another subject. She thought of Annabelle Denton and for some reason was disturbed. For some time she had known of her grandson’s attachment to Annabelle, the sister of his best friend, Thomas Denton. The two had prominent parents, Edward and Phoebe. Edward was a wealthy planter with a fine house in Williamsburg, and his wife was a sweet-tempered lady but fully as determined as her husband to hang on to their money and spend it on the finer things of life.
Esther sipped the strong coffee from a delicate blue china cup. She did not like coffee very much, and as she studied the tiny scene painted around the edge of the cup, her mind was on Annabelle Denton. She looked up at her grandson and, as often happened, was struck again at how strongly Jacob resembled his father.
He looks exactly like Josh did when he was sixteen, she thought as her mind went back over the years. She remembered her son’s sixteenth birthday. It had been in this very house, and he had had breakfast in this very room. With a start she realized that he had sat in the very chair that Jacob sat in now. All the similarities sent a shiver through her. She thought of Jehoshaphat, and, as always, a pang of regret washed over her. They had lost him sixteen years ago when he had fled Williamsburg and the bitter death of his wife to lose himself in the dark and wild world of the Appalachian frontier. Though he had visited once, she wondered how he was do
ing and longed to see him again.
Coming out of her reverie, she shook her shoulders slightly and said, “Jacob, you’d better hurry. You’ve got your chores to do before that party.”
“Here, it’s your birthday present,” James said suddenly. He handed a small box to Jacob, who took it and stared at it.
“Thank you, Grandpa and Grandma. What is it?”
“All you have to do to find out is open it,” James Spencer said, smiling slightly. He watched as the boy opened the box and saw Jacob’s eyes fly wide open.
“Why, Grandpa,” Jacob gasped, “you can’t give me this!” He held up the gold watch with the gold chain. “You’ve worn this as long as I can remember.”
“I’ve worn it longer than you can remember. My father gave it to me when I was twenty-one,” he said. “But I thought you ought to have it.”
Jacob ran his hand over the smooth yellow gold and stared down at the finely crafted watch. Lying in the bottom of the box was a small key that wound it. For a moment he could not speak. As he had done since he was a child, he opened the watch and looked at a miniature painting of a couple. They were his great-grandparents, he knew, the father and mother of James Spencer.
“They would have been very proud of you, Jacob,” James said quietly, “as your grandmother and I are proud.”
A lump formed in Jacob Spencer’s throat, and he could not look up for a moment. He held the watch gently, running his hand over it, and finally whispered, “Thank you both. I’ll keep it as long as I live.” He turned and left the room hurriedly, and as soon as he was gone James said, “He’s a good boy, Esther.”
“Yes, he is.” Esther turned her eyes to where Jacob had disappeared and had long thoughts, but she did not speak of them to her husband.
****
Jacob looked around at the spacious room where the ball was being held. It seemed to him rather frivolous to have a room in the house for nothing but parties, but the Dentons were proud of their ballroom and entertained lavishly. As Jacob surveyed the elegant surroundings, he had to admit that it was actually a rather beautiful place for a party. The rectangular room had gleaming white walls, and five floor-length windows lined each of the longer side walls. The windows were covered with fine lightweight white linen drapes that hung on gold rods and were held back by gold brackets. Gold sconces hung between each window to help illuminate the room, and paintings of landscapes decorated the bare spaces on the walls. The domed ceiling was covered with white punched tin panels edged in gold paint. A roaring fire in the white marble fireplace added a touch of warmth to the room, the flames reflecting their light across the highly polished black-and-white marble floor. Heavy mahogany chairs upholstered in dark blue silk damask encircled the room, and long serving tables laden with refreshments for the guests lined one side of the dance floor.
Beyond the Quiet Hills Page 4