Beyond the Quiet Hills

by Aaron McCarver

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Little Carpenter and The Carpenter

  As the warm days of summer fell upon Watauga, Elizabeth felt the clock of the seasons moving slowly. She had walked through the garden and reveled in the herbs that were growing, and the blossoming of the flowers brought a new joy to her.

  One morning when Sarah was away visiting Abigail, Elizabeth said, “It’s time for you boys to have a bath.”

  “Aw, Ma!” Andrew grumbled. “Who needs a bath? Indians never take baths!”

  “That’s their business,” Elizabeth said firmly. “Now, you go down to the creek, both of you, and see that you wash off good.” Moving over to the cabinet, she produced an old stoneware mug and filled it with a handful of soft soap. “Mind you wash good!” she warned them.

  The two boys actually welcomed the trip to the creek. They had found a favorite spot to swim—a wide, deep hole with a sandy bottom where they could dive from an overhanging tree trunk. Now they made their way there, carrying the stoneware mug and coarse towels made of tow. Soon they reached the creek and for half an hour splashed and yelled, falling in head first, then feet first, turning flips as they laughed and shivered in the cold water.

  Finally, after their swim was over, they rubbed their bodies with the soap Elizabeth had made. It was a gray jelly of a soft texture, and they worked it into a lather with the cool water of the creek. Then, having lathered all over, they splashed again until the soap washed free. Overhead a red-tailed hawk circled, seeming to eye them curiously, and from far off came the high-pitched cries of plovers. It was a plaintive cry, and one that always made Jacob feel peculiar, but it was a fine day, and finally the two dried off and headed back toward the cabin.

  Back at the house, as soon as the boys had left, Elizabeth had carried hot water to her room in a wooden keeler. She brought some of the soft soap in a mug and opened the window so that a breeze came through with a fine tang to it. Outside she could hear the pleasing sound of martins, the birds she loved the most. They were building in the birdhouse that Hawk had built at her request. For a while she watched them—sleek purple and black communal birds that loved each other’s company.

  Then, standing by the keeler, she began to bathe, spreading the soft, delicate lather over her body. She caressed the growing mound that was the miracle she was so thankful for. She thought again of how happy she was to be having a child that was Hawk’s and hers. This little one, to her anyway, represented the bringing together of the two families into one. She seemed to wash away the weariness that had come from all the work of spring. When she was completely covered with a spongy coat of foam, she dipped one foot and then the other in the keeler. She let the drops fall off, and she rinsed carefully with the water that had grown warm. She took a towel and rubbed herself into a rich glow, feeling exuberant with excessive health and the fine day.

  When she had finished cleaning up after her bath, she went about her chores until she heard men’s voices. Looking out the window, she saw William Bean and James Robertson talking with Hawk and Sequatchie. Moving outside, she listened as they spoke urgently. Bean seemed agitated.

  “Chief Attacullaculla came into the village yesterday, Hawk.”

  “He’s come to negotiate the final settlement?”

  “Yes,” Bean nodded. “It’s been put off too long for my liking.”

  “I think you’re right, William,” James Robertson said. He stood half a head taller than Bean and a couple of inches taller than Hawk himself. His lean body seemed to sway in the light breeze, but he displayed a solemnness that caused men to trust in him.

  “You’ll have to go, Hawk.”

  “Why do I have to go?” Hawk said. “I don’t have any business there.”

  “Yes, you do,” Robertson nodded. “You’re an officer of the court of the Watauga Association.”

  “That’s right, and you’ll have to be there. As sheriff, it’s your job,” Bean seconded. He glanced over and added, “Sequatchie, we’ll ask you to come, too, to serve as an interpreter.”

  “When is the meeting?” Hawk asked.

  “Tomorrow. Try to be there early.”

  Hawk shifted restlessly on his moccasin-shod feet. He had no interest in politics, but he knew it was necessary to settle the business of the ownership of the land. Glancing at Sequatchie, who nodded slightly, he shrugged, saying, “All right. We’ll be there.”

  ****

  By the time Hawk and Sequatchie had arrived at the meeting place in the center of the Watauga community, the other officials were already there. There was a hum of voices as Hawk and Sequatchie entered, and men greeted them warmly. It was an informal meeting, and none of the men had worn other than their everyday garb.

  “It’s a far cry from a meeting of the House of Burgesses,” William Bean said to Hawk. “We’d all be wearing boiled shirts and top hats there.” He looked around, seeing nothing but hunting shirts, woolsey trousers, and the rough clothes they were all accustomed to. “I like it better like this myself,” Bean said. “Who was it that said, ‘Beware of any enterprise that demands the buying of new clothes’?”

  “I don’t know,” Hawk murmured, “but he was right, whoever it was. How long do you think this will take?”

  “Got no idea. Look, I think we’re about ready to start.”

  The meeting began almost at once, and to Hawk’s surprise it was a rather brief meeting. The Little Carpenter, as Chief Attacullaculla was called, had already worked out the details with his own people. They were generous terms, far better than anyone in the settlement had expected. The Little Carpenter was an unobtrusive, even unimpressive figure as he stood up to give the terms. He had a smooth face, as all Cherokee did, but was much smaller than others. His voice was surprisingly deep for a little man, and his eyes moved from point to point, touching on every face in the room as he spoke of what his people had agreed to.

  “These terms will be called the ‘Articles of Friendship,’” he said, his voice carrying well to all the listeners. A silence filled the room for a moment as the settlers waited. It would have been within the realm of possibility for the Cherokee to demand an exorbitant sum, and failing to get it, to have brought war against the settlers. William Bean and James Robertson sat there, almost holding their breath, waiting for the terms.

  “You will receive a ten-year lease of the lands around the Watauga River,” the Little Carpenter said. “You will pay the Cherokee six thousand dollars merchandise and trade goods, plus muskets and household articles. . . .”

  William Bean expelled his breath with an expression of relief. His eyes met those of Robertson, and the two nodded in a pleased manner. Hawk took this in and knew that the Little Carpenter had indeed made good terms insofar as the settlers were concerned.

  Sequatchie was pleased, also. He knew that the Cherokee could have asked for more, but he also knew that if they had demanded too much the settlers might simply have refused. That would have caused such bad feelings that it was almost certain a war would have taken place, for the young, hotheaded braves among the Cherokee were longing for a reason to declare war.

  Finally the meeting ended, but William Bean suddenly turned to Paul Anderson and said, “Reverend Anderson, some of us would like to see a meeting for the entire community tomorrow. It’s the Sabbath day.”

  “Why, certainly,” Paul agreed at once. He had no official post in the association, yet his stature as a minister was growing, and both Bean and Anderson knew that it would be well to draw the people together by ending with a service. Besides that, they all admired and respected Paul Anderson, and most of them still nurtured the idea of having him start a church and become their full-time minister.

  “That’s fine, Reverend,” Bean said. “I’ll be sittin’ right in the front row. You can start on me, and then that would give the rest of the transgressors a break.”

  ****

  The service the following day was held outdoors in an open space in the middle of the settlement. It was a pla
ce the women often used to come to grind their corn in a huge iron pot with a suspended block of wood that could be lowered to crush the grain. The area was filled, and Hawk had brought his family, as had other settlers who lived some distance away from the settlement. He stood beside Elizabeth and glanced down at Jacob, Andrew, and Sarah, who stood beside her. A feeling of pride went through him as he looked at them. It had been something he had missed during his days of solitary wandering through the forest as a long hunter. Now he had a homestead, a warm, tight cabin, a fine, loving wife, three growing, healthy children, and another on the way. God has been good to me, he thought as the congregation began to sing another song.

  They sang many songs that morning, all standing, but no one seemed to grow tired. Hawk noticed that Jacob had a fine singing voice but Andrew did not. Hawk especially reveled in the words of the hymn Great God of Wonders by Samuel Davies. His voice rose as he sang the second stanza:

  In wonder lost with trembling joy

  We take the pardon of our God;

  Pardon for crimes of deepest dye,

  A pardon bought with Jesus’ blood;

  A pardon bought with Jesus’ blood.

  Glancing over to the other side of the crowd he saw Sequatchie standing close beside Paul Anderson. He was wearing his full regalia as a chief of the Cherokee and looked statuesque and colorful. Others in the crowd had on their Sunday best. It was a time out from work, from labor, from the incessant driving chores that consumed all of them six days of the week. This Sunday was an island on which they could all gather and rest and hear the Word of God proclaimed.

  Paul Anderson was wearing a simple dark suit, and his sandy brown hair caught the light as the sun broke forth from the fluffy clouds overhead and spread itself gently on the congregation that waited for him to begin the sermon. Rhoda stood with the other women to his right. When his eyes touched on her with pride, she smiled slightly. He knew her smile meant, “I’m proud of you, Paul,” and thus encouraged, he began to speak.

  “We are happy to have in our midst,” he said firmly, “Chief Attacullaculla, and I have been interested in his other name, the Little Carpenter. I’ve been impressed this morning to speak of another man who was called a carpenter. I speak, of course, of the Lord Jesus. As you all know, He was, when He was here on this earth, a real carpenter. We have little record of His activities, but it was very likely that He was a good workman, able to use the adze, the plane, the chisel, the hammer. All that a skilled craftsman following the trade of carpenter would use. . . .”

  The minister’s voice rose clearly above the sounds of the birds and the rustling of the green leaves in the trees that surrounded the clearing. There was a warmth in Paul Anderson’s eyes that communicated itself well to his hearers. Here was a man who loved people and who had proved it by going to the far-off reaches to preach the gospel to the Cherokee. He also had proved it in his daily life in the community by his good-heartedness and willingness to get his hands dirty and to help, but now he was doing that which God had called him to do, speaking of the great gospel, and excitement tinged his talk as he continued.

  “And so Jesus lived with an earthly father, and in the midst of a family, until at the age of thirty He began His ministry. We have little record of that, but I’ve often thought that His father, Joseph, must have been an extremely good man, and, of course, His mother was a woman filled with faith, as we have record in the Scriptures. Joseph we know less well, but I’ve often thought that when Jesus said, ‘Our Father,’ speaking to His Father in heaven, of course, He must have been very conscious of His earthly adopted father. I think it is correct to say He loved His earthly father and honored him with obedience, with love, and with devotion.”

  As Jacob listened, he began to grow very uncomfortable, for he was forced to think about his own father. He glanced over to the side and saw his father’s profile, strong and firm, his eyes fixed on the minister. As usual, Jacob thought instantly of the years he had had no father, and resentment began to stir within him. But still there was a feeling of guilt. He had held his father at arm’s length, even though these past months Hawk Spencer had done everything a man could do to show his affection and his willingness to give of himself. Jacob thought of the many instances he’d gone on hunting trips, the fishing expeditions, the long hours when Hawk had spoken not only to Andrew but to Jacob of his days as a long hunter. All of these acts of kindness now came back to Jacob in a rush, and he lowered his head. A feeling of shame came to him as he thought how he had responded with nothing but a surly attitude.

  Paul Anderson had moved the crowd, and now he said, “Jesus had to obey His heavenly Father as we all do. When He became a man, He was fully required to do all that men must do, and yet He said of God, ‘I do always those things which please Him.’ It was His joy to be obedient to His Father—to serve Him and to obey Him. That is the glory of the humanity of the Lord Jesus—that though He was God, He was at that same time a man, and the Scripture says, ‘He was in all points tempted like as we are yet without sin.’ Part of this was the temptation, no doubt, to go His own way, but He never did.” Paul lifted his voice then, and it came like a trumpet. “He always pleased God, and He always loved His Father. God is our true Father, who loves us more than anyone.”

  Jacob found himself trying to deny this. No one loves me like that, he thought bitterly, but then he heard Paul beginning to speak of the cross, and somehow just the mention of the word “cross” seemed to pierce him like a sharp knife. He felt ashamed and humiliated as Paul began to speak of Jesus dying on the cross.

  “When He hung on the cross He suffered physical pangs, but it was not that which was the worst,” the minister called out in a strong voice. “The worst was that His Father had forsaken Him. Do you not remember how He cried out, ‘My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?’”

  The truth of those words struck Jacob Spencer for the first time. He suddenly realized that Jesus had been forsaken by His Father, even as he himself had been!

  “God had not forsaken His Son ultimately. He allowed Him to suffer the agony of the cross, for He had agreed with His Son before the foundation of the earth that this was the price that had to be paid for sinful man. As Jesus hung there dying, He was saying, ‘Yes, I will obey my Father, even though He seems to have abandoned me. Even at this moment, when I feel alone and cast away, destitute, a foreigner, yet will I still cling to my Father.’” Paul hesitated for a moment, and there were tears in his eyes as he looked over his hearers. His eyes were not the only ones touched with tears, for many were moved by his words.

  “God knows what it takes to bring His children back to Him,” Anderson said in a voice little louder than a whisper. “And He knows that we feel forsaken at times, but I’ll tell you that God is with us whether we see Him or whether we do not. He loves us when we do not feel His love. He cares for us, though His presence may seem blotted out for a time. We may go through a dark night of the soul and doubt whether there even is a God. But I remind you, God puts His children through the valley of affliction more than anyone else. If you feel afflicted, forsaken, and unloved, I urge you to look at Jesus as He cried, ‘Why hast thou forsaken me?’” Then, with a ringing voice, Paul said, “We are never forsaken by God. Let us look unto Jesus, the author and the finisher of our faith . . . !”

  Jacob’s head, by this time, was bowed and he felt miserable. As the service closed, many went forward to kneel in prayer, to ask for the prayers of the pastor and of other believers. For one moment he had a wild impulse to join them, but that soon passed. A hardness and stubbornness rose again as it always did. He turned to go, well aware that Hawk was watching him, as was Elizabeth, but he could not help himself. He left the meeting feeling forsaken by his earthly father and also by his heavenly Father.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Presents for Abigail

  Life was hard, as a rule, in the Watauga settlement, and when the rare excuse for a holiday came it was followed by excitement. The birthd
ay of Abigail Stevens, which fell on June the seventeenth, had been anticipated with excitement by the young people for days. Now the Stevenses’ homestead was swarming inside and out as guests came pouring in from the outlying settlements. The cabin itself, of course, was too small to hold all of the guests, so a natural division took place. The men who had dropped by gathered outside, squatting on the ground, whittling, and speaking of crops, dangers with Indians, and neighbors. Farther off, the young people had come together in a cleared area, their laughter and shrill voices filling the air. The weather was mild with a benevolent yellow sun pouring down warm rays on the green fields and forest, and a gentle breeze stirred the tender shoots of grass, making a ripple as if the fields were pools of green water.

  Inside the cabin the women were gathered, so that one could hardly turn around without running over another. Rhoda Anderson, who was helping Deborah Stevens with the cooking, turned to Iris Taylor and asked quietly, her voice below the hubbub of voices, “Zeke didn’t come with you?”

  “No, he couldn’t come.” Iris’s answer was brief, and as usual, when her husband was mentioned by another woman, she seemed embarrassed. She lifted her eyes and added, “I wish he had come to be a better neighbor.”

  Rhoda said no more, for she knew it was not likely. Along with others in the community, she had heard rumors that Zeke Taylor had returned to his old drinking ways. She let her eyes fall on Iris’s face but could see no signs of bruises. He’s too afraid of Hawk to abuse his wife, but if Hawk weren’t here, I’m afraid to think what would happen!

  Elizabeth was chatting happily with Betty Foster, a newcomer to the settlement. The Fosters had moved in from Virginia and were better off than most of the settlers. Charles was a short man with blue eyes and blond hair. His wife, Betty, was even shorter—a diminutive woman with china blue eyes and a ready smile. Their two children, Joseph and Leah, ages fourteen and twelve, had been a welcome addition to the community, especially for the young people.