Nora took his hand in hers and said, “You are right wanting to help the kids. You have lived through a hard thing and my heart goes out to you.” Nora rubbed the back of his hand, noting the course hands that were so tender with the children. “Nolan, it’s been a long time. I figured I would never see you again when you left last winter. You’ve been carrying such a heavy burden all these months. If you are planning to leave again, do it quick before I fall in love with you all over again!”
Nolan thought for a minute and looked her in the eyes and said, “Well, I reckon my hurtin’ and a-wanderin’ is over. I don’t plan on leavin’ you behind again. Now, if you war to marry me, then I reckon we would be a-travelin’ together should ever I leave.”
“Nolan Tolivar, did you just ask me to marry you?” Nora asked in astonishment.
Laying his napkin in his lap, he considered what he was going to say. “Nora, when I wuz up thar in them mountains among those savages, my greatest fear wuz not a-losin’ my hair, it wuz never seein’ you again. The day I rode out of town I stopped and looked back at you, a-standin’ on the boardwalk. I felt guilty havin’ feelin’s for you while all them people, includin’ my wife, lay out in the wilderness in cold, lonely graves. I know there is nothin’ I can do for them, but just go on livin’ and bein’ the best person I can after all their sacrifice. Yes, Nora, that’s what I am a-askin’,” Nolan said.
“If you promise not to go gallivanting all over creation and leave the liquor alone, I will be mighty proud to marry you, but don’t ask if you are not a man of your word,” Nora said.
“Then, I be askin’! You don’t have to worry about the licker and wanderin’. Whar I go, you go,” Nolan said.
“Well, I guess I better be a-plannin’ for our wedding day!” Nora said.
C12 Things Were Looking Up--For a While
All day they rode north across the hills and through valleys with Elam checking their back trail constantly. These hills and valleys were unfamiliar territories. He had to make sure they did not get lost or boxed in a canyon. His demeanor took on a serious look as he pushed the horses without stopping for a breather. Looking back, Tillie asked, “What is bothering you, Elam?”
“They are closing in, driving their horses to death. After their mounts drop, they will be a-comin’ on foot. It won’t be long until they have us in sight.” Looking at the sky, Elam thought to himself and contemplated the situation, ‘The rain is still aways off. Our hosses are worn out. They need rest.’
Tillie didn’t say anything. She knew all his senses stayed focused on their survival. Elam dismounted and began to run along, leading his horse. “Elam, I can walk, too,” she said.
“No need, that little mare can carry you all day and not git tired. You stay put until we git in a pinch,” he said. Later that day, they found themselves in a small valley where a clear lake glistened. The water whitecapped as a strong wind swept across its surface. “We will water the horses and take a quick rest,” Elam said, all the while scanning the surrounding country.
Tillie dismounted and drank from the lake. “What beautiful land this is, Elam,” she said.
He did not answer as his eyes were scanning the sky and watching their back trail. Stripping his shirt off and laying it over his horse, he lifted Tillie back on to the little mare. As if to calm her growing fear, he smiled up at her and said, “It is a beautiful place. Sorry we can’t stop and enjoy it. You set here. I want to look around for a minute.” Walking back to a rise they had crossed, he stood watching. Suddenly he returned as if he knew the answer to what he wanted to know and led out again, setting a quick pace across the hills, turning from time to time to scan the back trail and watching the sky.
Tillie watched his muscular back browned by the sun glisten with sweat. She had not had a good marriage, but the sight of him caused her desires to well up in her. The horses labored as they worked their way around the side of a steep mountain trail. Suddenly a shot rang out from behind Elam. Above them, on the mountainside, an Indian stood and released his bow and tumbled off the mountainside, rolling to a stop at Elam’s feet. Tillie, with a frightened look on her face, held the pistol with a shaking hand. “I didn’t have time to warn you,” she said.
“You did good, girl. Now keep a sharp lookout while I keep us a-movin’. Them skins is upon us, and the fast runners have circled and gotten ahead. Keep your wits about you and don’t panic. Make every shot count.” Elam grinned, watching her remove the spent cartridge and replace it with a new one. “I shore like a woman what can thank for herself,” he said.
For an hour, they made their way across the land. Elam was always watching the weather and surroundings continuously following a trail that was unseen to Tillie. “When I be able to write and read, I’m a-goin’ to have a lot to say,” he said. Finally, out of breath, he stopped anxiously scanning the sky. “The rain is a-comin' and not a minute too soon. We are about to be smack dab in the middle of a war party!”
Tillie sat puzzled as he lifted the big Sharps rifle and turned his horse to watch their back trail. “Don’t you think we better run?” she asked.
“No need. They is in front of us now but the chief is in back of us, and I’m tired of his company,” Elam said. Across the valley, a line of Indians came in view most of them on foot, having ridden their horses to death. In the middle, a single figure rode a lathered horse carrying a feathered lance--his war bonnet blowing in the wind. A clap of thunder sounded and murmurs of superstition rose from the Indians. The chief yelled something and they all let out a blood-curdling war cry. In front of the chief, the tribal medicine man danced and chanted, hoping to ward off the evil spirits that lived in the mountains. One Indian pointed at Elam and shouted something and murmurs came from the ranks.
In reply, Elam lifted his arm in the air and gave out the same yell he had done as he jumped off the waterfall. In unison, the entire tribe raised their lances and let out a war cry.
“What are they doing?” Tillie asked anxiously.
“They recognized me from a previous encounter. Now they be a-thinkin’ they have me agin. If it doesn’t rain pretty quick, that may well be the case,” Elam said as he set his rifle across the back of Tillie’s mare and cocked the trigger. “Hold her real still,” he said as he lifted the sights and mentally calculated the distance. “Old chief, you jest ain’t a good leader and I’m tired of your wicked ways. This are the last time you will be a-chasin’ me!” Letting out a sigh, he squeezed the trigger just as large drops of rain began to fall. In the distance, the chief flipped backward from his horse and lay sprawled in the grass as rain commenced across the mountains.
There was no movement from the Indians for a long time. They were astonished at the shot the big mountain man had made. Thunder and lightning raked the mountains and the sky turned black. For a minute longer, Elam stood listening intently and watching as the Indians regrouped for an attack. Suddenly, the rain fell as they raced across the open country. In a few minutes, the roar of water rushing down the funnel came to him. He shouted and raised his rifle in the falling rain. Behind them, a war cry signaled that the Indians had rallied around a new leader and were commencing the attack.
Elam whipped his horse, gaining as much speed as he could as they raced across the valley steadily increasing distance on the pursuers. In front, a large group of Indians came out of a draw on horseback and raced across the valley to intersect them. Tillie screamed and pointed at the line of Indians racing headlong toward them. Elam continued headlong towards the approaching Indians, then suddenly he changed directions and headed downhill, followed by a few of the braves whipping their tired horses forward.
“Hang on and give the mare her head. She knows whar to go!” he shouted. The noise became deafening, and the Indians began to lose heart and finally came to a stop as both groups came together. Above the funnel, the war party loosed a few arrows and stood watching the three horses race downhill and across the mountainside valley. The Indian horses were no match for t
he fast-well-bred horses that the great white warrior and the golden-haired squaw were riding.
The war party now had all possible ways of escape blocked and held the high ground. From a hillside, they watched as Tillie and Elam raced toward the basin. Before them, the basin had become a swirling cauldron of water spinning and splashing high in the air as the mountain streams came together in the massive basin. They chattered excitedly as the three horses raced directly into the swirling water. Elam raised his hands high in the air as he and the horses disappeared into the spinning water, followed by the golden-haired woman.
Fear swept through the tribal party. They began to talk about the white warrior’s power. He flew over waterfalls and rode into the mouth of the monster that lived below the earth; undoubtedly, his medicine was much greater than theirs!
The pool of swirling water got deeper and deeper as the streams ran full into the funnel and no sign of them ever reappeared. Standing beside the new chief, the medicine man watched the spectacle and heard the argument coming from the rain-soaked warriors. Not to be outdone, he seized the opportunity to produce a powerful medicine of his own. He climbed on a boulder in front of the war party chanting and holding gourds above his head in the pouring rain. Lightning crashed, and thunder rolled around the medicine man as he intensified his chants. Raising his arms to heaven at the height of the storm, the warriors saw the medicine man throw a great challenge to the earth monsters’ power and joined in. All were whooping and chanting when suddenly a direct strike of lightning split the rock the medicine man stood on and sent his burning body in all directions. The braves had had enough. They turned and raced across the hills headed out of the mountains away from the fierce God that had destroyed the medicine man. Every lightning strike and clap of thunder helped intensify their race to the lowlands.
C13 Marriage Day
It was a chilly Sunday morning in Nichols as Nolan, Nora and the children walked to the white building at the end of Main Street. Already, singing could be heard as stragglers made their way along the boardwalk. A new preacher was preparing to give his first sermon this Sunday. The community had been waiting for six months to hear a real honest to goodness Bible driven preacher.
Nolan and Nora made their way around the clutter of buggies and wagons that had used every available tree and shade to tether the teams of horses and mules. “Nora, this tie is chokin’ me to death,” Nolan grumbled.
“You better get used to it, Nolan Tolivar! You promised you would go to church with me every Sunday if I would marry you. Today is the Lord’s Day and you need to wear your finest. If the new preacher can marry us after the service today, then you will be ready,” Nora said with a smile.
“Maybe he won’t show up. Ain’t nobody seen him yet!” Nolan argued.
The conversation ended as they made their way up to the door of the small white church where a long-faced man with a glum look stood. The sight of Nora brought a bright smile to his unusually long face. “Thank goodness you’re here!” he said. “Nora, where did you find him?”
“Find who?” she asked.
“Why, the new preacher,” he said, grabbing Nolan’s hand and shaking it vigorously.
“Wait a minute! I ain’t no preacher!” Nolan said, jerking his hand back.
Disappointed, the man shook his grey head. “Well, I’m sorry. The description of the new preacher is a big man wearing a black suit and a set of guns. You sure fit the bill,” he said.
“I do believe he could pass for a preacher, Mister Stevens. He does look mighty handsome in his new suit. That new preacher better show up. I’m a-plannin’ to marry this handsome fellow today, after the service that is, and nothing short of his demise will stop that,” Nora stated.
Deacon Stevens chuckled as he noticed the children. “The children need a daddy, do they, Nora?” he asked.
“Now you know them children is too pretty to be kin to Nolan and I’m too old to have children,” Nora said with a grin.
The two men shook hands again. Deacon Stevens explained that the new preacher had sent a telegram that he would make Nichols by the morning service. “You folks go ahead and find a seat. Hopefully, he will get here by nine.” Deacon Stevens looked at his pocket watch and cast a worried look down the empty street.
The small church was packed. The only seats available were on the front row and that suited Nora just fine. Holding to Mary’s hand with Danny and Nolan following close behind, she made her way down the aisle, speaking to every person along the way.
“Is there anyone you don’t know in this town, Nora?” Nolan asked.
“When you run the best eating place in town, you just get to know everyone in short order,” she said. As soon as the four sat down, Mary crawled up in Nolan’s lap. He had become her security blanket as she waited for her mother.
Shortly a small spectacled man stepped up to the podium. Clearing his throat, he said, “Well, we might as well sing a few more songs while we wait for the new preacher to arrive. Mrs. Tillman, if you will take your place at the piano again, we will commence with hymn number 36, The Old Rugged Cross.”
For thirty minutes, they sang hymn after hymn. Nolan noticed that Nora was getting more downcast by the minute. She was intent on getting married today. Nothing short of the preacher showing up dead would stop that from happening.
‘He shore has his work cut out for him today with this sour face lot--if he shows up at all,’ Nolan thought.
Along about the sixth hymn, the side door opened A man with shoulders broader than Nolan’s stepped sideways through the door. Somewhat shyly, he made his way around the chairs and laid his black hat on top of the piano as he stepped up on the podium. Picking up a songbook, he stood next to the song leader and glanced over his shoulder at the hymn the congregation was singing and with a strong, rich voice he joined in.
Deacon Stevens had followed the man in smiling from ear to ear and took his place in a chair behind the piano player. The preacher’s voice lent a quality to the song that none could compare. Every single woman in the congregation instantly noticed it. At the end of the song, he stepped behind the podium and asked all to be seated.
“It is a joy to be with you today,” he started. His exceptional voice filtered through the building as strong and even as one would hope their preacher’s voice would sound. “I am a man called by God to deliver to you a message of grace and hope. A man who has driven many a spike in the hands and feet of God himself before coming to know him. Even though the crucifixion of the Lord was nearly two thousand years ago, I stand here guilty of driving the nails today just as you are guilty of the same.”
“Today, I feel it to be fitting to tell you my story and how I came to know the Savior. I want all to know the life I lived before I became a Christian. You must know what love God has for a sinner before you can truly understand God’s grace.” For a moment, the preacher contemplated what he would say next. Then he began to walk back and forth and in his strong clear voice he said, “The man that shepherds the flock of God bears the responsibility of correctly relating the Gospel and Doctrines of Holy Scripture, lest the church fall into error. It is his responsibility to make sure that doesn’t happen. It is a responsibility I do not take lightly.”
“Two years ago, I was a different man than now—a man with three brothers and the leader of the family. I had been well educated and should have been an example for my family. My father, mother, and sister had died, and I was the oldest and biggest using my brawn to lord it over the rest. For two years, we worked our way around the southern and middle part of America hunting buffalo and living out of a hide wagon. I treated all men as a tyrant would manipulating and bullying them for my pleasure and stiff-necked pride. Delighting myself in the common pleasures of life and encouraging them to do the same. My brain was constantly foggy from strong drink. Many a night I lay drunk among the friendly tribes of this great land, bringing them whiskey to appease their thirst and desire for the white man’s evil ways,” the preacher
said.
His blue eyes were piercing and his face was kind as he scanned the church that sat before him. Each one could almost feel as if he was having a private conversation with them. “I was not ignorant of the reality of God. I knew I could not blame my way of living on ignorance. Each night I would lie out under the heavens and above me, a canopy of stars would stretch itself out declaring the Creator to me. Only an indifferent fool as I was, or a God hater could not have known He existed. The Bible says in Psalm 19:1 ‘The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth His handywork.’ I had no excuse for not seeking him. So, I was without defense, for never has man sought God in earnest that He has not revealed Himself unto that man. As I think back on my life, there were many a Christian man sent my way in an effort to correct my evil ways. Had I known God back then, He could have made me a tool He could use to save my brothers, but I desired evil and cast all thoughts concerning God aside as I lay upon the earth staring at God's handywork in the heavens. Preferring to feel the sting of the liquor than the love of God.”
“I was educated and lived two lives. When I was out on the plains, I was in every way a buffalo hunter, coarse and shallow. When I came to town, I changed my mannerism and was able to fit right in. On Sunday morning, I even on occasion went to church and mingled with believers, and none were ever the wiser. It’s possible, and highly likely, that there may be those who are sitting here today who are not saved. In a gathering this size, there are always those who live two lives and are no more saved than any lost sinner standing in the local bar on Saturday night. Some here may spend their weeknights in the saloon down the street, spending money on gambling and cheap liquor; money their families need. Then show up here on Sunday morning to give what’s left to God, the change that’s in their pockets from Saturday night.”
Winter Crossing Page 14