Over the Misty Mountains (36 page)

Elizabeth listened to his words. Her face was drawn, and for a while she said nothing at all. Then she turned to face him. “Thank you, Hawk, but I won’t be going back to Williamsburg.”

Hawk stared at her as if he had not heard correctly. “But you won’t want to go on now without . . . without your husband.” He did not seem able to pronounce Patrick’s name, and he shook his head. “It wouldn’t be the same.”

“If I went back to Williamsburg,” Elizabeth said, “it would be like saying that Patrick’s dream was wrong. That was his dream, you know? To have a home. Not just for himself, but for the children.”

“But that dream is over now with Patrick gone.”

“As long as I’m alive, that dream is alive, Hawk.”

Hawk wanted to argue. He knew the difficulties and dangers that would await a lone woman in a frontier settlement. “You’ll have to go back, Elizabeth,” he said. “There’s no place for a widow with two children.”

“There’ll be a place for us,” Elizabeth said. “God led us this far, and He won’t fail us now.”

Suddenly anger twisted Hawk’s lips into an ugly line. “How can you talk about God when He’s done this to you? He’s taken your husband!”

Elizabeth thought of all she had heard of Hawk’s past and knew that she had to speak very carefully. “God is all wise, Hawk. I can’t explain why He chose to call Patrick home and leave the children and me alone, but I believe that God is good. I believe that He loves us, and He will be with me and with Sarah and Andrew, no matter what the future holds.” She pulled herself up straight and said, “I will miss Patrick terribly, but Jesus said, ‘I will be with you always. I will never leave you nor forsake you.’” She watched his face and saw unbelief there, and a great pity rose in her for him. “I wish you could believe this, Hawk. You’re missing so much.”

Elizabeth turned and walked away. Hawk stood there watching her, and for a moment a blinding fear came to him—fear or anger, he could not tell which, for he knew that she had found some secret to go on and face life that he had missed. A final burden of guilt ate at him—he knew full well that Patrick had taken a bullet meant for him. The thought burned in his spirit, and he whispered huskily, “Reckon he died for me, Patrick did.” He thought of trying to go home and making things right with his son but quickly cast the thought away.

“It’s too late,” he muttered. “Too late for me.” He remembered, however, Patrick MacNeal’s last words. “I promised to look after them,” Hawk said to himself. Looking up, he said, “God, I don’t believe in you anymore. If you
are
there, you’re not kind and good as Paul Anderson and Elizabeth say you are. But I made a promise to a friend, and I’m going to keep that promise!”

He turned and walked slowly toward the train, his jaw set and his eyes cloudy with the prophetic dream of what lay ahead.

Part IV

As the Deer . . .

October 1770-October 1771

As the hart panteth after the water brooks,
so panteth my soul after thee, O God.

Psalm 42:1

Chapter Twenty-Five

New Homes, New Lives

“Well, you done good, Hawk.”

William Bean looked over the settlement, gazing at the spots where new cabins were going up. Some were too far away to see, but at least five cabins near him were in the process of having their walls raised. Bean ran his hand through his hair, and a warm light appeared in his brown eyes. “It makes a feller feel good to see more folk comin’ in. First thing you know, we’ll have a real town here!”

Hawk was standing with an ax in his hand. He had been helping cut down trees all day, and now he pulled his coonskin cap off and wiped his brow. “A sight too many people for me, I reckon, William. But we all have to play it the way we see it.”

“Fellers like you and Daniel Boone—seems like you don’t like to live in too close. Daniel, he always says it’s too close to him if he sees the smoke from a cabin nearby. I reckon he’ll leave here one day and go out into Kaintuck.”

“I reckon he probably will.”

Hawk cast his eyes around the settlement, noting the new cabins. “They did better than I expected, William, and it’s a good thing, too. It’s gonna turn cold soon.”

Already, the late October wind had a biting edge to it, and both men knew that one day the winter that lurked over the hills would descend and touch everything with a deadly finger, turning the green grass dry and brown, and freezing the earth. The newcomers had all been made welcome by those of Bean’s original settlement. They all willingly pitched in to help their new neighbors. One by one, each family had taken a little time to choose their homesites, and now around the Watauga the ring of axes could be heard as trees for new homes were being felled.

Hawk hefted the ax, testing the blade. “Ax is dull,” he murmured. “I’ll have to use your grindstone to put an edge on it.”

“Shore. Come along,” William Bean said. “We’ll give her a lick and a promise.”

The two went over to the grindstone that William had hauled all the way from Virginia. William began to pump on the pedal, and Hawk touched the edge of the double-bitted ax to the wheel. The sparks flew, making a yellow shower, and Hawk steadily ground until he had finished one side, then turned it over and sharpened the other. Touching it with his finger, he looked up and grinned. “A feller could shave with this. Want to try it, William?”

“No thanks. I’ll jist keep these here whiskers. Don’t see no sense in shavin’. Of course, a bachelor like you . . .” William grinned. “I can see a little bit of sense in that. My wife, she tells me gettin’ kissed by me is like gettin’ kissed by a bar. And I always ask her, ‘How many bars you been kissed by, Lydia?’”

Hawk grinned slightly, then remarked, “Don’t reckon I’ll grow a beard myself. Tried one once, and I spent all my time scratchin’ at it.”

“Sequatchie tells me he’s goin’ to light out sometime soon. I asked him if you wuz going with him, and he said he didn’t know.”

Hawk ran his fingers along the ax handle and appeared to be thinking deeply. Finally he shook his head. “Reckon I’ll stay on for a while, William.”

William Bean was an astute man—one of those who are called “country smart” by some. With only a smattering of education, he possessed an ingrained sense of how to do the right thing with people. There was something about him that men trusted, and he had a special ability of understanding people’s ways. He was especially interested in Hawk Spencer. Glancing up at the big man, he said, “I reckon you’ll be helpin’ the widow MacNeal.”

Quickly Hawk shot a glance at Bean’s face but saw nothing there but simple interest. “Guess I will,” he said slowly. “I’d like to go with Sequatchie, but I promised her husband just before he died that I’d help his family. A promise like that is pretty strong.”

“I’d say so,” William agreed. “She don’t talk none about goin’ back to Boston? She’s got people there. She comes from a rich family, I hear.”

“Yes, she does—but she won’t hear a word of it.”

“I wonder why not,” Bean said, pulling his beard.

Hawk set the ax down and sat on the bench beside the grinder. He reached over, picked up a stick, and began tracing a design in the dirt. It was a way he had fallen into throughout his long years of wandering. He was slow to speak, thinking often for long periods before he would answer. He looked up, and his dark eyes looked almost black. Finally he spoke up slowly. “She says that God told them to come here. And the way she makes it out, William, if she goes back home, it means her husband died for nothing. She just plain can’t stand to think about that.”

Bean scratched his head. “Not a bad way of thinkin’, I’d say. A fine woman, and those young’uns, why, they’re handsome as young deer! Smart, too—both of them. Still, it’ll be mighty hard for her to make a go of it. I don’t know of any that have ever filed a claim without a man to help them. Of course,” he said, “there are plenty of bachelors around Watauga looking for a good wife. There’s Sy Hawkins. He lost his wife, you know, last spring. A little bit old for Elizabeth. He’s over fifty now, but he’s a good man and has those three young’uns that need a mama.”

Hawk gave Bean an odd look. “Too soon for that, William.”

“Yeah, of course it is! What am I thinking about?” Bean slapped his hands together with a loud crack and said, “Well I, for one, am glad you ain’t going with Sequatchie. We need all the men and rifles we can get around here.”

“Any trouble that you know of stirring up?” Hawk asked.

“There’s always trouble stirrin’ up. You know that, Hawk. Most of the Cherokee are listenin’ to Little Carpenter, but some of the Creeks are just spoilin’ for a fight. The Chickasaw have been passin’ through, and you know what they’re like.”

“I know,” Hawk said grimly. “I think they’re the worst.” He thought about Elizabeth and the two children, alone and unprotected, and shook his head.

“We’ll get everybody to pitch in and help Mrs. MacNeal. And that other young woman, too, Rhoda. I wonder if she’ll stay with the MacNeals.”

“Might be,” Hawk said. “I wish she would. It would be good for all of them.”

Even as the two men spoke, Elizabeth stepped out of William Bean’s cabin and saw them. Walking quickly she came toward them and spoke cheerfully. “William, Lydia and I have decided we’ve got to plant some flax next spring.”

“Oh, she’s been at you about that, has she?” Bean grinned. “That woman would rather weave on a loom than eat. I declare! She was after me until I finally brought a spinning wheel all the way from Williamsburg, and now I’m working on the loom.”

“Yes, but it’s gonna take flax and wool to make the clothing.”

“I’d just as soon have buckskin,” Hawk said. He was studying Elizabeth, who was looking very well indeed. She was wearing a simple dress made of a dark brown wool. The dress had a high neckline, long sleeves, and a full skirt covered with a white apron. Her bonnet was a light brown muslin that was full in back, with a wide brim that was tied underneath her chin and a matching ribbon framing her face. Her cheeks were flushed because she had been helping with the work inside, and she smiled at Bean.

“Lydia wants you. I think she needs some help moving some furniture around.”

Bean shook his head. “Seems like she could make up her mind about that! We’ve had that furniture in every spot of that cabin, and it seems we change it every day,” he grumbled but went inside.

Hawk said, “Elizabeth, I know I get tiresome talking about this—”

“Now, Hawk, you’re not going to try to talk me into going back to Boston.”

“It’d be best,” he said. “You don’t have any idea how hard it can be out here on the frontier!”

“But everybody’s offered to help, and I can’t go back now.” She did not speak of her vow to God, for she knew Hawk would be resentful about that.

“Well, if you’ve made up your mind, I think we need to get started on a cabin.”

“But I thought you were going with Sequatchie and Paul to the village.”

“They can go on ahead without me, but this cabin won’t wait.”

“I . . . I hate to be a burden to you, Hawk.”

He grinned and suddenly looked much younger. “I reckon I can put up with it. And I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“What is it?” she said, thinking perhaps he had shot a deer and had a quarter of venison.

“I’ve got a spot I want to show you. I think it’d make a good place for your homesite—if you’re determined to stay, that is.”

“Oh, Hawk, how wonderful! I wish the children were here, but they’ve gone out with Amanda Taylor and the Bean children fishing.”

“Well, if you like it we’ll take them back later. Are you ready now?”

“Yes!”

“I think we’d better ride out,” Hawk said. “It’s a pretty fair walk.”

“All right.”

Thirty minutes later the two of them were clear of the settlement. Hawk had observed her mount easily and had watched her ride sidesaddle all the way. Now as they moved at a brisk trot through a patch of woods turning orange and yellow and red, he said, “I don’t see how in the world anybody ever rides a horse like that! I’d fall off and break my neck!”

“I do envy men a little bit, being able to ride astride. But this is such a nice mare that it’s not really hard.”

“All right, see if you can keep up.” He kicked his horse’s flanks and laughed as Elizabeth tried to get her mount to speed up. The animal was obstinate, however, and only when Hawk fell back and slapped the mare’s rump hard did the pace increase. “You need a stick to beat that animal with,” he said, grinning. “You can’t argue with a female.” He laughed at her indignant look, then added, “She’s got an easy gallop, but trotting is hard on anyone.”

The sun was hot, and they stopped once to water the horses under the shade of some towering hickory trees. The small brook gurgled over the smooth stones, and it was Elizabeth who remarked, “That brook’s been here a long time, I suppose. If it could talk, it could tell us some fine tales.”

Somewhat surprised by the remark, Hawk turned to study Elizabeth’s face. She was a woman of a strong spirit, and from time to time she revealed the inner world that made up her life. “I suppose it could,” he said finally. “It would be mostly about Indians, mostly about their wars.”

“Not only wars,” Elizabeth responded quickly. “I don’t know much about Indians, but they must be like us in many ways.”

“Most of the settlers wouldn’t agree. They think of them only as savages who need to be brushed aside so they can have the land.”

“You don’t believe that!”

“Well, I did once, pretty much. But no more.” A slight sound behind him pulled his head around, his body stiffening. He half lifted the musket he held loosely in his left hand, every sense alert as his eyes searched the brush. Finally he relaxed, saying, “Rabbit.”

Elizabeth had seen this side of Hawk before. “You’re so tense,” she observed. “You never seem completely relaxed.”

“Living in the woods does that to a man—if there are Indians around, or even bears.” He pulled his horse’s head up, then added, “Trouble—it’s always there. Your hair gets to standing on end, and it just won’t lay down.” He spoke to his horse, and as he moved out of the creek, he said, “Hope you won’t be disappointed in the spot I picked out. Don’t like to make decisions for other people.”