“Your sister’s name is Hannah Faith Spencer,” Hawk said quietly.
Jacob looked questioningly at him. “After my mother?”
“It was Elizabeth’s idea to name her Faith.”
Somehow this touched Jacob more than anything had in his memory. Suddenly, without warning, two things happened. He could not help smiling down at the baby, and at the same time he felt his eyes suddenly overflow with tears. Strangely enough, for all his pride, he did not care that the tears ran down his cheeks. He stood there holding the child, totally oblivious of the smiles on the faces around him.
“She’ll need a big brother to watch out for her,” Elizabeth said.
Sequatchie looked at Jacob carefully. He saw something in the youthful face that pleased him, and he thought, This will keep him here. He has found out what it means to have a family.
Chapter Seventeen
Bread Rounds
The winter of 1772 to 1773 had been mild. Spring had come now with all of its softness and gentleness, erasing from the memory of the settlers the light snows and the one hard freeze. As always, the spring seemed to bring a new time of hope, and a spirit of expectation had come to the dwellers at Watauga.
The Spencer cabin was now enlarged. Hawk had added another full-sized room, joining it by a walkway through the middle of the two structures. Since the dogs slept in it, it was called the dog trot, and oftentimes at night the sleepers inside would awaken to hear the dogs’ claws scratching on the board floor between the two rooms. It had a loft, the same as the first structure, so that now Andrew and Jacob shared it, while Sarah had the old room over the original structure.
Paul and Rhoda Anderson had come for supper on Friday night. They had just returned a week earlier after spending all winter preaching the gospel among the Cherokee. Rhoda was holding the eight-month-old Hannah Faith in her arms and cooing down at her.
“She’s got her mother’s green eyes,” she said, smiling up at Elizabeth. “And look, her hair’s the color of honey.” Elizabeth, who had just taken a pie out of the Dutch oven before the fireplace, smiled. She was content now. The baby was healthy and already filling the cabin with her meaningless sounds that she thought was talk.
Across the room Paul and Sequatchie were speaking with Hawk. It was Sequatchie who said, “Some of the Cherokee are still not happy about the leasing of their lands.”
“Been peaceful enough.”
“Yes, but some of the younger warriors don’t want it that way, Hawk,” Paul said. His eyes now on Rhoda, he thought, I wish Rhoda and I could have a baby. It’s done so much for Elizabeth.
Hawk did not miss the wistful look in his friend’s eyes, but he said nothing of it. “We’ll talk to the leaders of the community and see what can be done.”
The men sat there talking until the meal was set on the table. They plunged into the fried chicken, biscuits and gravy, sweet potatoes with sliced apples on top, and early peas from the garden, and afterward when Rhoda and Elizabeth were cleaning up, Elizabeth asked, “Tell me more about your trip. Were the Indians receptive to the gospel?”
“Oh yes. Some of them were. It’s hard to tell,” Rhoda said. “They come and they sit. Some of them like the singing, but their way of life is so different from ours.” She was putting mugs back on pegs in the cabinet and said, “I’m still having a hard time, Elizabeth.”
“You mean about being a preacher’s wife?”
“Yes. I still don’t feel worthy.”
“Have you talked to Paul about it?”
Rhoda turned and said with exasperation, “I’ve tried, but he thinks I’m wonderful!”
“Well, that must be awful, having to listen to that kind of talk all the time.”
Rhoda caught the grin on Elizabeth’s face and could not stop the smile that came to her own lips. “I should be thankful for what God’s given me, and I am, but I feel so inadequate.”
Elizabeth was quiet for a moment. She was a thoughtful woman who liked to hold things in her mind for a time, and she had thought often of what Rhoda had said about feeling unworthy. She had prayed about it, and now she said firmly, “I think what you’ve just said is against God.” Seeing Rhoda’s shocked look, Elizabeth said quickly, “I think that when someone gets down on themselves, that’s a form of pride, and the Bible says that God hates that worse than any sin.”
“Why, I’m not prideful! I’ve got nothing to be prideful about.”
“I don’t think you mean to be, but you’re always talking about the things you say you lack. Do you think it was God’s will, Rhoda, for you to marry Paul?”
Rhoda was still now, caught by what Elizabeth had said. She had thought this over many times, and Paul had helped her with it. “Yes,” she said. “I really believe it was.”
“Do you believe, then, that God’s called him to be a minister?”
“Of course I do.”
“Well, certainly you don’t think God would give Paul a wife who would be a hindrance. He would give him one who would be a helper.” Wiping her hands on the towel, she came over to stand beside Rhoda. She studied the strong features of her friend for a time, then said, “Rhoda, God has forgotten your past, and the people on the frontier, including the Cherokee, have no problems with it.”
Rhoda stood quietly as Elizabeth talked to her, and finally she grew encouraged. “You’ve been such a help to me, Elizabeth. Paul tries to help me, but women need other women, don’t they?”
“Yes, and they need the grace of God so they can do what He wants them to do.”
Rhoda smiled openly and with relief, and the two pulled up chairs and sat down, talking for a while. Afterward they each prayed for God to bless the other and to be wives who would be pleasing to God.
****
The Watauga Association Court had rarely met during the winter, but now Hawk sat back and listened as Carter, Robertson, and others went over the problems and the plans of the group. He had little to say, for these two men were far more able than he, he felt, to take the lead in this sort of thing. Finally, however, when there was a pause and John Carter said, “Is there any other business?” Hawk did speak up.
“I think we ought to do something to help our relationships with the Cherokee.”
James Robertson stared at him for a moment with surprise. “What were you thinking of, Hawk?”
“I’ve been talking to Elizabeth, and we came up with the plan to give a feast to honor the Cherokee.” He ran his hand over his coal black hair and added, “You remember your history. The Pilgrims did that for their Indian friends.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Carter said.
“No, it’s not,” Robertson added quickly. “We could have a feast and games and races. . . .”
After some talk it was decided, by general consensus, to have the meeting a year later, for it would take time to spread the word to all the Cherokee and to the settlers, and to provide enough food to go around.
“Sequatchie and Paul will spread the word to the Cherokee,” Hawk said. “Daniel Boone’s in the area. He travels everywhere, and he can spread the word to the settlers wherever he goes.”
At this moment Sequatchie walked in with George Stevens. Stevens was holding a young man by the arm, and an odd expression was on his face.
“What’s this, George?” James Robertson asked.
“This is Hiram Younger. He just moved into the community last week.”
Younger was a very small young man of some seventeen or eighteen years of age. He had carrot red hair and pale blue eyes that he lifted nervously to watch the men of the court.
“I expect this is a job for you, Sheriff,” Stevens said, looking at Hawk.
“What’s he done?” Hawk demanded. “He doesn’t look like a very bad sort.” He saw the relief that crossed the young man’s features and wondered what sort of a crime he had committed.
“Well,” Stevens said, “this morning Deborah baked some pies and bread. She put them outside to cool, and when she heard some
thin’, she went to the window. She saw Hiram running away. I was right there and I caught up with him. Brought him right here.”
Robertson tried not to smile, but he could not help it. “Well, Younger, did you do it?”
“No, sir. I didn’t do it. I was just passing by.”
Hawk was amused, as were the other men. “Why were you running, then?”
“I . . . I was just in a hurry.”
“A hurry, were you? What about those bread crumbs on your mouth?”
Hiram Younger’s eyes flew open, and he swiped his hand across his mouth.
“You didn’t even have time to wipe your face,” Hawk said.
“I didn’t mean no harm. I was so hungry and it smelled so good.”
Robertson winked at Hawk and Carter. “I think stealing pies and cakes and bread is a pretty serious offense. Hanging, wouldn’t you say?”
“Oh no! Don’t hang me!”
“Well, a whipping at least,” Carter said.
George Stevens saw that the young man was distraught. “I don’t want that to happen. It was just one loaf of bread, really. I just want him to stop stealing.”
Some discussion went on about a fit punishment, and finally Carter said, “What do you think, Sheriff?”
Hawk looked over at Sequatchie, seeing the light of humor in the dark eyes. “What do you think, Sequatchie?”
“I think you can just spread the word among the community. Tell them there’s a bread thief loose.”
Hawk grinned and said, “All right, Younger. You got a new name.”
“A new name?”
“That’s right. Your name is Bread Rounds Younger. I hereby make it official. Now, get out of here.”
Younger immediately whirled as soon as Stevens released him and fled through the door. The men all laughed, and as he disappeared they all called out, “Good-bye, Bread Rounds!”
“I wish all crimes were that minor in this part of the woods,” Hawk murmured. It had been a time of relaxation, and he made a note to find the young man and let him know that he had at least one friend in the community.
****
A few weeks after the Bread Rounds incident, Hawk and Sequatchie were helping George Stevens build an addition to his cabin. It was Stevens who said, “I haven’t seen Bread Rounds much lately.”
Hawk was helping to lift a log into place and waited until the ends fell into the notches they had made with their axes before answering. “He left the settlement.”
“Left? I didn’t know that,” Stevens said. He took his neckerchief out of his hip pocket, wiped his face, and grinned. “He didn’t steal any more bread.”
“No, but everybody called him Bread Rounds. I don’t think he could take that.”
“It wasn’t much of a punishment,” Sequatchie observed. “Among my people it would have been worse.”
“I expect so,” Hawk said, “but all the young people took to following him around and calling him Bread Crumbs and offering him crusts of bread, even the little ones.”
George laughed and shook his head. “Well, I guess Hiram learned his lesson.”
Sequatchie picked up his ax and started notching the next log to be fitted into place. “It is good that we have law in Watauga, even for things like stealing bread.”
Chapter Eighteen
Iris and Amanda
Shifting Hannah from one hip to the other, Elizabeth glanced down at the infant and smiled. Ten months old, she thought, and it seems like only yesterday that she was born. But time has gone by so quickly.
Spring was slipping away and summer was fast approaching. Rumors from the coast had brought ill tidings, or so it seemed. The patriots in Boston and New England were taking more stringent action against the British. War talk drifted over the Misty Mountains, but by the time it reached Watauga, all of the action on the coast seemed as distant as if it were in China.
“Doesn’t seem a year since Abigail’s fifteenth birthday, does it, Elizabeth?” Rhoda Anderson was walking alongside Elizabeth, and now she reached over and said, “Let me carry Hannah for a while.”
“She’s heavy as lead, Rhoda,” Elizabeth warned but gladly surrendered her burden. She smiled as Hannah crowed and reached up to pull Rhoda’s hair, which was hanging freely down her back. Getting a fistful she gave it a hearty yank, and Rhoda said, “Ouch! That hurts!” She leaned over and kissed the baby and, with admiring eyes, said, “She’s the most beautiful child I’ve ever seen.”
“She looks like her father, I think. Don’t you?”
“Her face is shaped like his, but I can see you in her, too—especially around her eyes.”
Deborah Stevens, who was walking behind the two women, accompanied by Sarah MacNeal, disagreed. “I don’t think she looks like either one of you.”
“She does, too!” Sarah protested. “She looks like Ma!”
The argument went on for some time until finally they turned on the path that led to the Taylor place. As usual, Elizabeth was depressed by the homestead, for Zeke Taylor did no work on it that was not actually required. Several pigs were rooting in the yard, and there was only a small bed of flowers that brought a bit of color to the dilapidated landscape.
“I wish Zeke would take more pride,” Rhoda murmured. “Iris loves nice things, and yet she never has anything.”
“No, and it’s hard to help them,” Elizabeth said. “Zeke gets angry. He says he’s not going to take charity.”
The group had approached the cabin, and it was Sarah who said, “I think I hear something.”
Elizabeth cocked her ear as they approached the door but shook her head. “I don’t hear anything.” She knocked, and even as she did her ears caught a faint sound. “That sounds like someone crying,” she said.
“It sounds like Iris,” Abigail Stevens said. She had been tagging behind picking flowers and now had a small bouquet in her hands, but her eyes were troubled. Deborah looked at Elizabeth and said, “Maybe you and I ought to go in alone.”
“All right,” Elizabeth said. She pushed at the door, found it open, and when she stepped inside, was shocked to see the furniture scattered wildly about, overturned, the chairs upside down, and broken dishes on the floor. She paid no heed to that, however, for her eyes fell on Amanda, who was kneeling beside her mother, who was obviously unconscious.
“Amanda!” Elizabeth cried. “What happened?” She rushed up and knelt beside the unconscious woman and noticed that Amanda had a big raw welt on her cheek.
“I been trying to get her to wake up, but she won’t,” Amanda said, tears streaming down her face.
Deborah Stevens said, “I’ll get some water.” She moved outside to the pump, picking up a tall pewter basin on the way. When she came back, she snatched up a towel, dipped it in the water, and kneeling beside the unconscious woman, she began to dab at Iris’s face. Her lips grew tense, for Iris had obviously taken a severe beating. Her eyes were swollen, and a cut on her mouth was bleeding. Anger welled up inside Deborah, but she said nothing, for she knew, as well as Elizabeth, who was responsible.
Elizabeth was struggling with her own feelings. She had grown very close to Iris Taylor, and Amanda, as well, over the long months on the frontier. During the trip out she had felt a sympathy for the woman and the child being tied to such a man as Zeke Taylor, and now as she half supported Iris, anger built up in her. I’d like to see Zeke Taylor beat with a blacksnake whip! she thought. But she said none of this. “What happened, Amanda?” she asked.
Amanda dropped her head. It was a customary gesture with her. She had formed the habit when she was but a child. Elizabeth believed it was a reflex action to avoid meeting the eyes of her father, and now she reached her hand out and took the girl’s hand. “What is it? Tell me about it.”
Rhoda stepped inside the door at this time and came to stand over Iris. Her back straightened and her eyes glowed with a sudden anger. “Who did this?”
“It’s all right for you to tell, Amanda. Was it Indians?”
&n
bsp; Amanda shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “It was Pa.”
Deborah nodded as if her thoughts had been confirmed. “Where is he, Amanda?”
“I don’t know. He left.”
“We’ve got to get Iris and Amanda away from here,” Elizabeth said.
Rhoda and Deborah agreed, and they continued to minister to the injured woman until she regained consciousness. “You’ve got to come with us, Iris. You can’t stay here,” Elizabeth said firmly.
Iris Taylor was dazed. She could barely see out of her eyes, and she lifted one hand as she shook her head. “No . . . I can’t—!”
“Yes, you can,” Rhoda said firmly. “You get her things together, Deborah. I’ll go hitch the horse up to the wagon. She’s not able to walk.”
“Yes,” Deborah nodded firmly. “We’ll make a pallet for you in the wagon.”
Iris protested faintly but could not stand up to the determination of the three women. Half an hour later she was half carried out to the wagon by the three women. They helped her into the wagon, and she slumped back faintly as Amanda got in beside her and whispered, “Don’t worry, Ma. It’ll be all right.” She looked at the cabin with fear in her eyes and reached up and touched the welt on her face. I hope I never have to come back here, she thought, and bitterness rose to her throat. Shutting her eyes, she lay back and put her arm around her mother and held tightly to her as Rhoda spoke to the horses sharply and the wagon lurched off.
****
“Can you tell us what happened, Iris?”
Elizabeth was sitting on the bed beside the injured woman, her eyes troubled. She had decided to bring her to her own home, and Amanda had stepped outside with Sarah and Abigail. They were in the next room, and Elizabeth heard them trying to distract the girl with talk of Abigail’s upcoming sixteenth birthday party.
Elizabeth reached out and took Iris’s work-hardened hand, and compassion filled her heart as she studied the battered face. “What happened to make Zeke do this, Iris?”
Beyond the Quiet Hills Page 19