Over the Misty Mountains (41 page)

Deborah Stevens invited the two men inside the cabin, and now she said, “We have a meal ready. Let’s all sit down and eat.” She was a pretty woman with thick, long, sandy brown hair.

A young girl joined them and was introduced as their daughter Abigail. She was tall for a fourteen-year-old and was very shy.

As they ate, Hawk listened while Stevens sketched the problems that had driven him and others to seek their futures farther west.

“Most people call this the Regulator movement. We got that name because we have asked local officials to meet with us and regulate taxes around here, but they refuse. All we want is to be treated fairly. The royal governor of North Carolina, William Tryon, has decided he must have a “palace” built in New Bern that will be our capital building as well as his home. He has ordered fifteen thousand pounds in taxes to be levied on the citizens of the colony. Well, we western frontiersmen are not as wealthy as the landowners on the eastern seaboard, yet we pay the same amount in taxes. We can’t get it changed because they have more representatives in the government. We hoped for a peaceful solution, but folks around here are getting madder and madder. Many are doing what we are doing and leaving for lands over the mountains so they can live their lives in peace. It’s come to the point where we can’t take it anymore, Mr. Spencer.”

Hawk was enjoying his meal, eating biscuits with honey poured over them. “I’m not much on being called mister. Just Hawk will do.”

“That’s good. I like first names better,” Stevens said.

Deborah Stevens was pouring coffee into their mugs and spoke up. “Most of the county officials were appointed by the governor and his council. When these western counties were organized, sheriffs, lawyers, clerks—they all came down on us like buzzards!” she exclaimed, her eyes flashing.

“We’ve just got to get out of here, Hawk! There’s not anything else to do,” George added.

Hawk shrugged. “Well, there’s plenty of room in the Holston country, but it’ll be slow traveling.”

“We’re ready to go. Well . . . some of us are. We’ll have to get everybody together. Some people are going to sell out, and that takes a little time.”

“I’d just as soon go as quick as you can make it,” Hawk said. He looked over at Sequatchie, who seemed to be eating biscuits without chewing them, just swallowing them whole. Hawk shuddered. “Sequatchie, you never taste anything! You just ram those biscuits into your mouth and swallow them! You look like a snake swallowing a rabbit!”

Sequatchie’s only reply was a grunt. He reached out, poured honey all over the biscuit and swallowed it as he had done before, then licked his hands and grinned at Mrs. Stevens. “Good,” he said. “Honey is good.”

“Well, the quicker you get started the better, I say,” George Stevens said.

Abigail Stevens, called Abby by her parents, spoke for the first time. She had her mother’s gray-green eyes, and it was obvious she was going to be a beautiful young woman. “Are there many young people in the valley?”

“Lots of them,” Hawk said. “And I’ll tell you what. I know about the best-lookin’ young fella your age there, and I’m gonna tell him to start courtin’ you right away. Why, those young fellas will be swarmin’ around you like bees!”

Everyone at the table laughed, and Abby flushed.

“I don’t care anything about boys,” she said.

“Ho, that’s not the way I see it!” her father crowed. “What about when you went mooning around after Asa Stanfill? I thought we were gonna have to call the doctor, you were so moonstruck.”

“Papa!” Abby protested. “I did not!”

“Don’t tease her, George,” Deborah said. She went over and put her arm around Abigail and said, “Tell us about the people there.”

“Good people,” Sequatchie said quickly. “Many are fine Christians.”

“Well, that’s good news,” George said quickly. “We’re not actually going out in the wilderness.”

“It’s pretty wild,” Hawk said. “Not like the first pioneers, but it’s not settled like around here either.”

“I don’t care, as long as we can have some peace from these confounded courts! You know there’s a line from Shakespeare that I always liked.” He grinned and said, “It goes, ‘First we kill all the lawyers.’”

Hawk laughed outright. “That’s a bit strong, but I can understand the feeling. Well, Sequatchie and I are ready when you can get your people ready.”

Stevens had a determined look on his face. “I’ll get the word out today. Hopefully we can leave in a week.”

****

It actually took two weeks, but on May the sixteenth, the settlers from North Carolina were all ready. There had been some who had changed their mind at the last minute, but still a goodly number had sold all their possessions, packed their wagons, and now they were lined up and eager to head west.

Hawk had enjoyed the Stevens family, and he was sitting with Abby, telling her about the young people at Watauga. “There’re lots of fine young folks there, but I’ll have to put in my recommendation for Andrew MacNeal.”

“Is he your kin?” Abby asked.

“Not really. His father was killed as the family was traveling out to the Holston valley, and I’ve tried to help them along. You’ll like Andy, though. He’s just your age. You two ought to hit it off.”

“What does he look like?”

“Well, he’s not as good-looking as I am, of course,” Hawk said with a straight face.

Abby looked up startled, for she did not like men who bragged. When she saw Hawk’s eyes twinkling at her, she said, “Oh, you! Tell me. What does he look like?”

“Well, he’s got wavy blond hair and sparkly blue eyes. He comes about up to here on me, and all in all, he’s a fine young man.”

Hawk would’ve told more, but suddenly the door burst open and George Stevens rushed in.

“The militia’s been called out!”

Deborah, who had been over at the fireplace cleaning up, turned pale. “What’s the matter, George?”

“It’s the governor. He’s called out the militia, and they’re on their way right now. Some of the men are saying we ought to stop and fight ’em.”

“Oh, please, George, let’s not do that!”

“Oh, I’m against it—but I have to stand with my friends. They stood with us.”

Hawk watched but said nothing. He knew little of the situation. He and Sequatchie mounted up and joined the men who had armed themselves and now were ready to head out.

“Where are they located?” George, who seemed to be sort of a military commander, asked.

“They’re coming on the Hillsboro road,” one man said.

Stevens tried to appease the crowd one more time, saying, “Look, men, we’re leaving the country. Let’s just let them do what they please.” But there was anger in the crowd and he was yelled down, and finally he said, “All right. We’ll go take a stand.”

The Battle of Alamance took place late that afternoon. Governor Tryon’s men were well trained and well armed. The Regulators were not. They were merely farmers who stood as well as they could against the troops of the governor. But nine men were killed on each side, and many were wounded. The governor immediately demanded that they take an oath that they would stay in the country. Of course, Stevens and his people would not sign it and finally said, “Governor, we’re leaving.”

“Good riddance!” the governor said. “See that you don’t come back to North Carolina!”

The next day, as the procession of Regulators moved west, George Stevens shook his head. He spoke to Hawk and Sequatchie as he rode alongside them at the head of the column. “Nine of our men dead . . . and all for nothing!”

“It wasn’t totally for nothing,” Hawk said. “You stood up to oppressive governing and now you have your freedom.” He turned and moved his horse back to where Deborah Stevens and Abby were driving a heavily loaded wagon. “It’ll take a while to get there, ladies,” he said. “But you’ll see some mighty pretty country.” He winked at Deborah and said, “Abby’s already got her cap set for a young friend of mine named Andy MacNeal.” He laughed when Abby sputtered in protest. Wheeling his horse, he then rode back to the head of the column.

Chapter Thirty

Hawk and Elizabeth

“Look out! You’ve got a bite there!”

Abigail Stevens had put her pole down and lain back on the fresh, soft green grass. Andrew’s yell sounded almost in her ear. She jumped up and looked around wildly, crying with fear, “What?” She had been asleep and for a moment didn’t know where she was.

“Look!” Andrew MacNeal shouted. “You’ve got a fish! He’s getting away with your pole.”

The two had been fishing on the creek late in the June afternoon with white fleecy clouds high in the sky. Ever since the Stevenses had arrived at Watauga, the two had been almost inseparable. At first, Abby had been shy because Hawk had teased her about Andrew. She had found, however, that Andrew was even shyer than she was. It all worked out very well, and soon the two of them spent every available moment together.

Abby glanced at her pole floating downstream and said, “Well, it’s just an old stick. You can cut another one.”

Andrew MacNeal stared at the girl in disgust. Pulling his own line in, he ran downstream, waded out, and grabbed the pole, then hauled a thumping pumpkin-seed perch out and said, “Look at that! The biggest one we caught, and we almost missed him!”

Abby watched as he removed the fish and put it on a stringer.

Handing her the pole, he said, “Now you can put another worm on there.” He grinned, knowing that she would not.

“I won’t do it!” Abby snapped stubbornly. “We’ve got enough fish, anyway.”

“There’s never enough fish!” Andrew said. He picked up the string filled with perch and bass, all good sized, for they had thrown back the smaller ones. The sun caught their scales, and the weight dragged Andrew’s arm down. “The only thing I hate is cleaning them, but I’ll let you do that. I know how you love to gut a fish and pull the insides out.”

Abby stared at him indignantly. “I’m not going to touch those ugly things! I’d rather eat nothing but corn bread the rest of my life than do that!”

Laying the stringer aside, Andrew baited her hook, handed her the pole, and sat down beside her. He put his own pole back out and told Abby what kind of fish he planned to catch next.

Abby turned to him and said, “You know. I was afraid to come here. To Watauga, I mean.”

“Afraid? You mean of the Indians?”

“No, I mean I lived in North Carolina all my life in the same house, and we had to leave all of my friends and everything I knew. And I didn’t know who would be here. Whether I’d have any friends or not.”

Andrew watched his cork, which was bobbing gently, and muttered, “Come on! Get on there, you sucker!”

He turned then and looked at Abby, admiring her long, thick sandy brown hair. She was the prettiest girl he had ever seen, and at first he had been stunned by her and had kept away from her. Not because he didn’t like her, but because he liked her too much. He remembered she had finally confronted him, asking, “What’s the matter? Don’t you like me, Andy?”

He had muttered something and finally said, “Sure I like you, but you’re so pretty, and I’m just afraid of pretty girls, I guess.” It had been exactly the right thing to say.

Just then Andrew’s thoughts were interrupted when his cork disappeared with a resounding plop. “Hey! I got another one!” he yelled.

Abby watched as he wrestled the fish, noting that he always kept his mouth open for some reason when he was landing a fish or when he got excited. “Someday a bug is going to fly into your mouth if you don’t shut it, Andy,” she said sweetly and laughed at his look of indignation.

After he got the fish on the bank, he looked regretfully at the creek and said, “I guess we’ll have to go back. It’s getting late.”

The two gathered their fish and poles and the little lunch that was left over and walked back to the cabin that had been thrown up with almost miraculous speed for the Stevens. When the settlers from North Carolina had arrived, everyone pitched in to build the cabins. Many of the earlier settlers had helped as well. Hawk and Sequatchie and Andrew had helped the Stevenses build their cabin, which was very close to the MacNeals.

Andrew and Abby walked up to Hawk and Elizabeth, who were sitting under a tree. Hawk took in the long, heavy string of fish and nodded, “Well, it looks like you two have found where they were hiding.”

“I wish you’d been there, Hawk,” Abby said quickly. “It was so pretty out there by the creek.”

Andrew gave her a look of disgust. “We didn’t go out to see pretty scenes. We went to catch fish! Girls don’t know anything about fishing!”

“I think that’s right.” Hawk winked at Elizabeth. “Next time, let’s leave all the girls at home, and you and I can go fishing. Who wants to take an old girl anyway?”

Andrew was speechless, and trapped, then he saw his mother break out laughing. He grunted and turned red. “Oh, I don’t want to listen to that, Hawk. I’m going out and clean the fish.”

“I’ll come and watch you,” Abby said. “But I’m not going to touch their old insides. . . .”

After the two had left, Hawk and Elizabeth sat out for a time, waiting for supper to finish cooking. The Stevenses had invited Hawk and the MacNeals to supper and were now outside walking around, looking at their new place. By the time they came back, the fish were cleaned and the smell of cooking fish filled the air. When they sat down, they had fresh corn bread, fish, and even some greens that had sprung up early.

“Sure will be glad when the vegetables all get big enough to eat,” George Stevens said. “I could eat tomatoes raw and live on nothing else.”

“I’ll remember that,” Deborah giggled. “When the tomatoes get ripe, I’ll just quit cooking, and you can live on tomatoes.”

Hawk smiled and sat calmly, watching the family around him. There was a peace and a harmony in the Stevens household that he liked. He had been amused by Andrew’s obvious infatuation with Abby Stevens. He whispered to Elizabeth, “I think Andy’s going to stick his fork in his ear if he’s not careful. He can’t take his eyes off of that girl.”

“Hush! It’s sweet,” Elizabeth said, reaching over and squeezing his arm. She smiled at him then and said, “It’s been so good to have new neighbors, and such good ones, too.”