Beyond the Quiet Hills

by Aaron McCarver

  A silence reigned over the room for a moment, and James said quickly, “Jacob will calm down and probably change his mind. After all, it’s a pretty big shock for him.”

  “Yes, it is,” Esther said. She came over and touched Hawk’s arm gently. “Don’t be angry, son.”

  “I’m not angry. I understand, and really I deserve everything the boy said.”

  “I’ll talk to him,” Esther said.

  “No, don’t do that, Mother. I wouldn’t force him to do something against his will. You two have been a real blessing in his life, actually his mother and father. I’ll tell him I won’t bother him again if he doesn’t want me to.”

  Esther was closer to Hawk than the others. His face was turned slightly away, and for the first time since he was a very small child, she saw something that shocked her. This tall, strong man who had braved the wilderness and was able to handle anything that came his way had tears in his eyes. She reached out and whispered, “God has brought you back to Him, Josh, and now He’s not going to forget you. You’ll have your son again.”

  Chapter Five

  Jacob and His Father

  A fitful night’s sleep had left faint dark circles under Jacob’s eyes. As he left his room and moved down the hall to the landing, he felt miserable and discontented. He put his hand on the polished walnut, remembering his delight in sliding down the curving banister when he was younger. I must have gotten in trouble a hundred times over this banister! The memories of that time came back as he descended to the first floor, and he found himself longing for those halcyon days when life had been so much simpler. He was a thoughtful, introspective young man, at times retreating from reality into a secret world of dreams and longings. Now as he entered the dining room, he shook his shoulders, forcing himself to assume a more pleasant expression.

  “Good morning, Grandpa.”

  “Good morning, Jake.” James Spencer had been standing at the mullioned window looking out at the oak tree that had shed all its leaves and now appeared bare and dark against the gray November sky. A brisk wind was stirring the crisp leaves that lay around the base of the huge tree, catching them up into a miniature tornado that swept across the flat ground and dissipated as they collided with a green hedge of holly decorated with crimson berries. Clasping his hands behind his back, James commented, “It’s going to be a cold winter. I knew that when I saw how thick the caterpillars’ coats were last summer.”

  Jacob found himself smiling briefly. His grandfather put great stock in things like this. Taking his seat at the large oak table, he pulled his chair up close and looked up, saying, “And the acorn shells were thicker than usual this year.”

  “That’s another sign. It’s going to be bitter cold before we’re out of this. You mark my words.” Moving over to the table, James pulled out one of the Windsor chairs and sat down. He was a well-preserved man, firm and somewhat thicker around the middle than when he was younger. Still, there was an alert air about him as he studied his grandson’s face. “How was the party?” he asked, watching the expression on Jacob’s face carefully.

  “Very good.”

  The reply was brief, and Jacob was relieved when his grandmother entered carrying a silver bowl with a cover. “Good morning, Grandma,” he said. “Can I help you bring something in?”

  “No, it’s just oatmeal, bacon, and eggs this morning. How was the party?”

  “Crowded.” Jacob’s brief reply brought a cautious look into his grandmother’s eyes.

  “Did you have a good time?”

  “Yes, I did. The music was good.” He looked around rather nervously and said, “Where’s . . .” He started to say “my father” but could not bring himself to frame the words. After a noticeable hesitation, he said, “Where are our guests?”

  “They’ve gone to see about Paul and Rhoda’s wedding,” James Spencer said. “I think you ought to attend. We’ll be going.”

  Jacob desperately did not want to attend any function where he would have to look at his father. He had mixed emotions on finding out that his father and Sequatchie were gone. He did not want another scene with him, and yet there was something in him that drew him to his father. “If you say so, Grandpa.”

  The two waited until Esther had brought the rest of the food in, then James bowed his head and asked a blessing. He ended by saying, “We thank thee, O Lord, that you have brought our son back home, if only for a little while. In Jesus’ name.”

  The meal was quiet. Jacob was depressed, not understanding fully why he felt so miserable. He knew his grandparents were puzzled, and even hurt at his behavior. Breaking the silence, he finally said diffidently, “I’m sorry that I have to disappoint my father.” He said the word “father” this time with a distinct effort, then added, “But I don’t really want to have anything to do with him.”

  A swift glance passed between the Spencers, and it was James who leaned forward and put his hands flat on the table as he stared at his grandson. “I think we need to talk about this, Jacob.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about. I’m not going to live with him.” There was a flatness to the young man’s reply, and his dark eyes contained a stubbornness that the older people had learned to recognize. “He abandoned me, and he can’t just come waltzing in here and expect to become a father to me as easily as if . . . as if he picked up a new puppy!”

  “It isn’t like that at all, Jacob,” Esther protested. “Your father’s had his difficulties.”

  “Yes, he has, hasn’t he? But I haven’t been one of them.”

  There was such raw bitterness in Jacob’s voice that James involuntarily shook his head. He was totally devoted to this young man who had grown up in his house from the day he was born. He had pride in him, too, for he knew that Jacob had strengths that had been emerging all of his life. Now that he stood on the verge of manhood, James Spencer was pained and grieved to think that Jacob was hardening himself in this fashion.

  “I think you ought to consider your father’s invitation,” he said as mildly as he could.

  “Do you want me to leave?” Jacob demanded. He knew this was not so, and even as he saw the hurt leap into his grandmother’s eyes, he hated himself for speaking like this. Somehow he seemed to have lost control of himself. His father’s presence had disturbed the equilibrium of his life, and he sat at the table, his head up, with his backbone stiffened so that he was rigid and unbending.

  “You know better than that, Jacob,” Esther said quietly. “You know we would miss you terribly.”

  “I know that, Grandma,” Jacob said, forcing himself to meet her eyes. “I didn’t mean to speak that way. Forgive me, please.”

  “Of course, but at least think about it. You need your father.”

  “I don’t need anyone except you.”

  “That’s not true,” James interjected. “Your grandmother and I are getting older, and you’re a young man with a lot of life ahead of you.”

  “You’re not old!”

  James suddenly realized that there was fear in Jacob’s voice. We’re all he has, really, he thought. He’s afraid of losing us, and then he wouldn’t have anybody.

  “I think I made a mistake,” James said finally. “We haven’t talked of your father enough all through these years that he’s been gone.” He looked down at the table, picked up the silver spoon in front of him, and held it lightly, staring at it as if it had some meaning. Then he looked up and said, “It was too painful for all of us, but I see now it was my fault.”

  “I think you’re right, James,” Esther said quietly. She was leaning back in her chair, and a sadness filled her eyes as she added, “I wish you could know how much your father loved your mother, Jacob. I’ve never seen a man so caught up with a woman. Why, he worshiped the ground she walked on! And when she died, her death literally destroyed him.”

  “That’s right,” James nodded grimly. “It was almost as if he took a bullet in the brain. He couldn’t think straight, and he was like a crazy man.” />
  From outside the window a mockingbird began singing, and the sound of it was cheerful inside the dining room. Jacob listened to it but was preoccupied with what his grandparents were saying. “I can’t love him,” he said. “I just can’t forget how he walked away and left me.”

  The only sound in the room was the ticking of the small clock on the mantel, and the mockingbird throwing his song out on the morning air. The sunlight streamed in through the window, touching the table silver, transforming it from a dullness to a bright, glowing, warm color. “You can’t live with bitterness,” Esther said. “It will destroy you as it almost destroyed your father. If you don’t deal with it, you will become the very thing you say you hate.”

  “The Scriptures are clear on that, and I think it’s the most difficult thing in the Bible,” James added. “Forgiving those who have wronged us probably isn’t in our makeup. It’s just not human. I think that’s why the Bible says it is Christ in us who enables us to do things like that. Jesus on the cross looked down and said, ‘Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.’”

  “That’s right,” Esther said quickly. “You must remember that, Jacob. Your father didn’t know what he was doing at the time. He was distraught, half crazy with grief, and behaved very foolishly. But if you continue hating him, you’ll be just as foolish as he was.”

  Jacob sat silently listening as his grandparents spoke. He knew very well that they had his good at heart and that they loved him without reservation. He also knew he was wrong for hating his father, but the cauldron of roiling anger was stronger than he was. Finally he forced himself to say, “If you force me to go, I will.”

  “No, that won’t do,” James said instantly. “You can’t make people different in their hearts. It would do no good to force you to do something you hated.”

  “Your grandfather and I have been praying that you would change your mind and decide to go with your father—at least for a time. It doesn’t have to be forever, Jacob, but you need to give God a chance to work things out between you.”

  Jacob found it hard to resist his grandmother, for her gentleness was one unchanging factor in his life. He looked up at her now and bit his lip as he thought hard, then said, “Don’t get your hopes up. I don’t think I can do it.” He got up and left the table without another word, and behind him he left two people grieved over a young man they loved with all their hearts—and over the son they had never given up on.

  ****

  The home of Silas and Martha Anderson was not opulent, but it was solid and well built. A single step led up to the large clapboard-sheathed saltbox home. It was painted a light brown color with mauve and light blue trim around each plank-framed window and had overgrown bushes on each side of the small landing. The windows were twelve-over-twelve sash with three on the top floor and two on the first floor, one on each side of the large oak door. A massive brick chimney made its way through the center of the dark brown shake roof that sloped sharply down the back. Through the large door was a foyer with hardwood floors and eggshell painted walls. The first door to the right led into the best parlor, a large room with chocolate brown-colored carpet with black diamonds running through it. The walls were painted a light slate color and had a border of various kinds of trees and animals edging the windows, surbase, and cornice. The small pine and pewter fireplace had a warm fire crackling, and the larger furniture had been moved to the hall outside and replaced with Windsor easy chairs standing in rows for the guests.

  Rhoda stood beside her husband-to-be in the center of the room, and Reverend Joseph Jefferson, the local Congregational minister, stood before the couple. Rhoda was not wearing a bridal gown but had chosen a simple dress made out of sapphire blue handwoven light wool. It had a square neckline edged with black lace and long, tight sleeves that ended at the wrists in a small ruffle. The bodice was tight, and the stomacher was embroidered with black and gray flowers. The skirt was full, long, and had two small rows of the black lace along the edge.

  Paul Anderson, standing beside her, had not even bought a new suit. He was wearing a charcoal gray woolen suit with an overcoat that came to below his knees, worn open to reveal a white linen shirt with ruffles at the neck and wrists, and a waistcoat buttoned to the top with black buttons and decorated with black brocade along the edges. His breeches were loose fitting and reached below the knees and fastened with large black buttons. His face was alight as he looked at Rhoda, for he was very much in love with this young woman. They were the same age, thirty-six, and while Paul was not a handsome man, there was a winsomeness about him that was very attractive as he looked his bride full in the face.

  Standing beside Paul, Hawk had drawn himself up straight so that he could see the profile of the minister and the faces of the bride and groom. He had known Rhoda for years, and suddenly old memories of her past tried to surface and he quickly pushed them aside. Her new faith in Christ had grown so fast that she truly looked like a new person. She had a bright expectation in her dark eyes, and she looked young and beautiful as she was about to take her vows.

  He let his glance lift slightly, taking in Silas and Martha Anderson, Paul’s parents. He knew it had been a disappointment to them when Paul had not come into the family business. It had been the Andersons’ dream that he would take part in the business with his brothers as they were older, but they had never rebuked Paul for it. They were very proud of their preacher son, and as the minister repeated the familiar words of the marriage ceremony, Hawk saw the elderly couple beaming with pride.

  Reverend Jefferson was deliberate in his weddings. He never rushed through them but pronounced each word solemnly, almost lovingly, and gave to every wedding he performed a grace and dignity that never left the memories of the couples that stood before him. Now he was having the two repeat their vows, and as Paul promised to love and honor Rhoda as long as he lived, the tall minister’s eyes were fixed on his face. He shifted his gaze, then said, “Rhoda, repeat after me. I, Rhoda Harper, do promise to love, honor, and obey. . . .”

  Rhoda repeated the words almost in a whisper, but they were audible throughout the room. For her, this moment seemed like some sort of fairy tale. For years she had felt as if a dark cloak had weighed her down. Now it seemed as if time stood still. She remembered the day Jesus had lifted her out of a dark and bitter past and forgiven her. She would never forget from where she had come, but her heart was filled with a deep gratitude and joy for the honor God was giving to her now. Looking fully into Paul’s face, taking in the sandy brown hair, the plain features, and the total seriousness that now occupied him, she solemnly made her vows aloud to him, but inwardly she was saying, Oh, God, never let me fail this man . . . !

  Finally Reverend Jefferson smiled and closed his book. “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride, Paul.”

  Paul put his hands on Rhoda’s shoulders and leaned forward. His lips fell on hers, and they were soft and warm and yielding. Then he heard her say as he drew back, “I’ll always love you, Paul!”

  And then they were surrounded by family and friends congratulating them.

  After the wedding refreshments were brought in, Hawk made it a point to go up and stand beside Rhoda. She had served everyone, and now they were isolated in the room, as much as was possible.

  Rhoda looked at him and said abruptly, “Hawk, you’ve never faulted me about my past. You don’t know how much that’s meant to me.”

  “Well, I understand that’s what Christians do,” Hawk remarked. “You look beautiful, Rhoda,” he said. “You and Paul are going to have a fine life.”

  At that moment Paul came up and slapped Hawk between the shoulders. “Now I’m an old married man just like you.”

  “That you are,” Hawk grinned. “And you can start learning how to be a good husband.”

  “Maybe you can give me some lessons.”

  “Not me,” Hawk protested, a wry grin touching his lips. “I’m still learning myself.”

  �
�What about Jacob?” Paul asked and noted at once that Hawk’s mood changed. “Is he going back with you?”

  “No, he won’t be going back with us to Watauga.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad,” Rhoda said. “I know you’re disappointed.”

  “Yes, I am, but it’s his decision.”

  “Do you think if I talk to him it might help?” Paul asked anxiously.

  Hawk hesitated and then said reluctantly, “No, perhaps that might be too much pressure.”

  Paul, however, could sense the longing in his friend’s heart to have his son go back with him.

  “How long a honeymoon will you two need?” Hawk asked.

  “When were you planning to go back?” Rhoda asked.

  “Will three days be time enough?”

  “Oh yes.” Paul stepped over and put his arm around Rhoda and winked at Hawk. “You understand, I’m not settling for a three-day honeymoon. Our honeymoon will continue on the journey back, and after we get there.”

  “How long of a honeymoon do you have to have?” Hawk smiled.

  “Oh, I think ten or fifteen years ought to get us off to a good start.” He leaned over suddenly and kissed Rhoda’s smooth cheek and saw happiness wash across her face and joy light her eyes.

  “All right,” Hawk said. “Come to my parents’ house in three days. Sequatchie and I will be ready.

  ****

  As soon as Hawk stepped inside the door, he knew he had to speak with Jacob. It brought him no joy, for his son had left no doubt about the way he felt. Nevertheless, his years in the wilderness had taught Hawk Spencer never to turn his back on trouble. If there was an unpleasant task to be done, he went to it immediately. In his heart, he knew this might be his last opportunity ever to talk to his son. Moving to the library, he found Jacob sitting at the large rosewood desk staring at a book before him. “Am I interrupting, Jacob?”