The girl’s simple wisdom impressed Will greatly, and he impulsively reached out and took her hands. “You’re a very wise young woman, Rebekah. If I’d had a keeper like you from the beginning, I might not have made such a horrible mistake.”
Rebekah was very aware of his hands on hers. They were large and strong, and they held hers firmly, and a flush crept up her neck to her cheeks. “Really, you mustn’t hold my hands, sir.”
Will did not let go of her hands. “Why, that’s the way of it. Didn’t you know? Young masters of houses always flirt with pretty maids.”
“Oh, really you mustn’t, sir!”
Instantly Will released her hands. “Of course not. I was only teasing, Rebekah. Come and sit down. I’m going crazy. I read the last page of this book a hundred times.”
“I . . . I must be about my work.”
“I’m the master of this house—at least while my father’s gone,” Will joked. “Now, tell me about yourself.” He looked around. “What books do you like to read?”
He had touched on a good subject, for Rebekah loved to read. She said, “Oh, I like every kind of book. I like history and poetry and novels and books about foreign countries.”
“Have you ever read this one?” He rose and took a book down off the shelf and said, “It’s all about Africa.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Let me show you this portion. It’s like nothing I’ve ever read before.” He opened the book and began to read to her. He read steadily for a few moments, then looked up and saw that Rebekah’s lips were open and her eyes were dreamy.
“Oh, do go on! Read some more!”
“No, ma’am! I’m saving it for later. Come along. Let’s take a walk and see what James is doing with the garden.”
“But I have my work!”
“Remember, I’m the master of Martin Hall, and you have to obey me. Come along now. Do you ever play games?” he asked, a smile turning his mouth upward.
“Why, I did when I was a little girl.”
“But I mean now. When you’re grown up.”
She remembered suddenly dancing on the stairs and pretending he was her partner. “Well, sir, yes I do.”
“Look. When nobody’s around, you can call me Will. Rebekah, I need a friend right now. It’s a hard time for me.”
“I know, W-Will,” she said, pronouncing the name with difficulty. “But you’re going to be all right. God’s going to be with you. Just look to Him.”
“Come along then, and here’s the game we’ll play. We’ll pretend that I’m a young man who’s come calling on you. This is your house, and you’re showing me around. Now, show me the garden, Rebekah.” He took her arm, and they walked to the door and left the house. The sun was shining, and they waved at the men who were cutting the grass. “Show me the garden as if I’d never seen it before.”
Suddenly she felt relieved and almost playfully she said, “All right. Let me show you the flowers. My favorite flowers are roses. We have four varieties here. I’ll show you my favorite, and then you can tell me yours.”
The couple moved among the flowers of the garden, smelling this blossom and that, with Rebekah exclaiming over the beauty of particular blooms. And as Will Martin watched her, taking in the trim figure and the clear, unblemished skin, he remembered suddenly what Elizabeth had said. Next time, look closer to home for a wife. The words seemed to echo in his mind, and the quiet strength of the girl and the excitement of her face brought peace to his troubled spirit. An hour later he realized that he had forgotten his problems entirely. Her charm and words of faith had driven them completely from his mind. Well, he said to himself after she had finally excused herself and disappeared into the house, there are women in this world with beauty and honesty in their hearts. The thought stayed with him as he continued to walk slowly along the garden, smelling the flowers, and thinking of how much better a flower looked in Rebekah’s slender hand.
Chapter Sixteen
Appalachian Destiny
May had turned to June, then June to the heat of July, and now August of 1770 made its appearance, and on the first day of that month, Elizabeth and Patrick awakened in their room in Boston as the bright sunshine shone through the windows. Patrick sat up and said, “Elizabeth!” She was already awake, he saw, and when she sat up and stared at him, he said, “Well, it’s time. We’ve had our last day in this house. You’ve spent all your life here, and now you’re leaving it. Are you a little sad?”
Elizabeth looked around the room and thought of the graciousness of the mansion, of the grounds, and of the years she had lived here. But she shook her head, her hair cascading down her back, and smiled. “I’ll always remember they’ve been good years. But the best of our life is before us. God has promised me that.” She reached over and pulled his head toward her, kissed him soundly, and said, “Now, get up and get dressed. I’ll bet the children have been awake since daybreak.”
They made their way downstairs and found William already moving around the room, dressed in a gray suit and wearing a fresh white shirt. He looked somewhat better, which was probably attributed to the fact that Will and Patrick had practically forced him to take a lengthy two-week sea voyage vacation. The time away from work and the rest had seemed to work wonders with him. He looked at them now and said quietly, “Well, I’m trying not to be sad, but it’s hard.”
Elizabeth went to him and put her arms around him. This man had guided her throughout childhood and her adult life with his strength and words of wisdom. Next to Patrick, he had been the most important man in her life. Tears came to her eyes, but she was determined not to let him see them. Blinking them away she said, “Well, have you seen the lovebirds this morning?”
A wry smile touched the lips of William Martin. “Oh yes! They’ve already been around. They can’t seem to take their eyes off of each other.”
Elizabeth said tentatively, “I’ve been worried about Mother. She wanted Will to marry somebody high on the social scale.”
“I think we’ve had enough of that sort of thing. Your mother has learned a hard lesson in that regard. Rebekah will make a good wife for him. Did I tell you we’ve decided to send her to school for a while? Maybe for even a year. Oh, not that she needs it, but she loves reading, and she told me that she’d feel better about meeting our friends and William’s if she had a little more grace and charm.”
“She doesn’t need any of that,” Patrick said. It had pleased him when Will had fallen in love with the young woman who had helped spare him from making a grave mistake. He had been afraid that Anne Martin would raise the roof with her son marrying a maid of her own house. But somehow the shock of the Van Dorn scandal had done something to Anne Hardwick Martin. She had had a painful reminder of what high society could do to a person’s values. After she had accepted the shock of Will’s announcement that he was in love with Rebekah and intended to marry her, she had gone out of her way to be friendly to the young woman.
“I can’t believe how she’s blossomed. Rebekah, I mean. She just needed some love and attention, and I’m glad she’s going away to school. It will give her and Will a time apart. He can do some mooning around. A young man needs to suffer a little bit before he gets married,” Elizabeth said.
“I think it is a good thing,” William said. “And I’m proud of Will, and of you, too, Patrick. You two have brought the business along so that it’s better now than it ever was. I’ve decided to leave it completely in Will’s hands. He will have Mr. Simms to help him, if he needs it.”
“I think that’s a wise move. You deserve to enjoy yourself.”
“I’ll miss you two,” he said, “and the grandchildren.”
Elizabeth could say nothing. She knew that the mails were unreliable, and almost nonexistent, for the most part, beyond the mountains. She knew, also, that this was probably the last time that she would ever see her father on this earth, but she had deliberately purposed not to dim the last day with sad thoughts. “Let’s have a good bre
akfast,” she said, grabbing her father’s arm and moving into the dining room where Anne was working with Martha, putting the breakfast on the table.
“It’s all set,” Anne said. “Come and sit down.”
“What about Will and Rebekah?”
“I’ll get them,” Sarah said. “They’re out kissing in the garden.”
Everyone laughed, but no one rebuked the young girl. She dashed out the door, and soon the young couple came back, Will holding Rebekah’s hands despite the dictates of decorum. It had taken some persuasion to get Rebekah to sit at the table with the family she had served so long, and now her grandmother looked at her proudly without saying a word. Her heart was full as she recognized that this granddaughter of hers was now going to have a life that was better than she had ever dreamed of for her.
They sat down, but most of them discovered that despite the succulent food and the abundance of it, none of them could eat much. They did the best they could, but everyone’s mind was on the events of the day—a mixture of melancholy and anticipation. Finally, the time came when Patrick said, “Well, we’ve got a long way to go. I expect the carriage is waiting.”
Everyone looked at William, and he dropped his head for a moment. His face was filled with emotion, and choking back tears, he looked up and said, “You’ll have to forgive an old man for being overcome. The only thing that sustains me is that I know that God is in this.”
Anne Martin reached over and put her hand on her husband’s, holding it tightly. The pain of losing part of her family was harder on her than she had expected. She had gotten to know Patrick better in the last three months than in all the years before. From the many talks they shared in the garden, she had discovered him to be a better man than she had ever thought. “We’ll miss you, but you’ll be in our prayers every day—every day of our lives, I promise you. We love you very much.”
They all joined hands and bowed their heads then, and William said the final prayer, asking God to bless them on their journey.
****
The entire family made the trip to the wharves in Boston where the ship was set to sail for Virginia. With the final bustle of excitement, Andrew and Sarah became practically frantic, and Patrick had to corral them. Holding them by the back of their necks, he said, “Be still now and say good-bye to your grandmother and grandfather.”
The tears could not be contained then, for they all knew that this could well be a final farewell. When William put his arms around Elizabeth, he said huskily, “Christians never say good-bye, you know.”
Elizabeth swallowed hard, sobbed for moment, then clung to him and nodded. “That’s right, Father. So I won’t say good-bye. Thank you for all you’ve been to me.” After kissing her mother and clinging to her, she turned and hugged Will and Rebekah and Mrs. Edwards. Then climbing on board the ship, they stood on the deck as the bell sounded. The huge craft began to move, slowly at first, then picked up speed as the sails filled with the stiff breeze. None of them said anything; even the children were subdued. Finally the ship cleared the harbor, and the figures at the dock faded away.
Patrick said huskily, “Well, we’re on our own now. Just the four of us.”
Andrew looked up and said, “No, there are five of us.”
Patrick looked down at his son. “What do you mean, five?”
“Don’t you remember the story of the three men and the fiery furnace? The king said, ‘I see four men in the furnace, and one of them is likened to the Son of God.’”
Elizabeth suddenly knelt down, grabbed her son, and held him. She squeezed him tightly and then stood up and looked at her family. “That’s right. We’re not four—we’re five. Now, we’re going over the misty mountains, and who knows what great things God has for us there. . . .”
Part III
Westward Journey
August 1770-September 1770
Thou shalt bring them in, and plant them
in the mountain of thine inheritance, in the place,
O Lord, which thou hast made for thee to dwell in,
in the Sanctuary, O Lord,
which thy hands have established.
Exodus 15:17
Chapter Seventeen
Watauga
Hawk and Sequatchie had been hunting deer, walking in a large circle through the western range of mountains, and for days they had not seen a living soul. Unless they caught sight of an Indian, it was unlikely they would see another human being, much less a white man, this far west in the wilderness. Leading their packhorses out of a small valley walled on both sides with dense evergreens, a rider suddenly appeared out of the thick growth ahead. Both men threw their rifles up. Hawk’s finger was on the trigger, for he had learned to be cautious. Yet, his keen eyes had identified the man, and now he slipped off his horse and tied the animal to a tree as the long hunter came forward.
“Well, I declare! I never expected to see you, Daniel.”
Boone had a scraggly beard, which made him look somewhat older. His pale blue eyes lit up with pleasure at the sight of his friends, and he put out his hand, saying, “Spencer, good to see you.” He turned and winked at the Indian, shaking hands with him, too, and saying, “Sequatchie, you still running around with this old coot? I’d think you could find better company to keep.”
Sequatchie’s eyes showed a trace of humor. “Someone has to watch Hawk to keep him straight, Boone,” he said.
“I reckon that’s gospel.” Boone looked at the heavily laden pack animals and grinned. “Seems like you found a deerskin or two.”
“Hunting’s been good out this way,” Hawk said. He noticed that Boone’s pack animal was carrying only the minimum of equipment that a long hunter took with him on his hunts. “Are you just starting out?”
“I’m meeting up with a bunch. We need to get a heap of pelts, Hawk. Times are a little bit hard, and it looks like they might get harder.”
“What’s happening back across the mountains?” Hawk asked.
“Oh, the British are still having it out with Sam Adams. I reckon there’s going to be trouble with the Redcoats one of these days.” He gave Hawk a curious look. “What would you do if Sam Adams stirred everybody up, and we got into a shootin’ war with the British? We been fightin’ on their side for a long time now. It’d be a bit hard to draw a bead on fellers that you fought with.”
“I hope it won’t come to that.” Hawk leaned on his rifle. His thick jet black hair caught the sun as he pulled his coonskin cap off and ran his hand through it. He was thirty-five years old but still retained the vigor he’d had when he was eighteen. He studied the ground for a moment and then looked up and met Boone’s eyes. “I guess we’ll have to do whatever comes, Daniel. It would go hard, though, as you say.”
“What about my people? How do the settlers feel about them?” Sequatchie asked.
Boone shifted uneasily. “Well, I guess you know how I feel, Sequatchie. I reckon there’s room for everybody, but not everybody feels that way.”
“No, there never will be enough room for everybody,” Sequatchie said. A gloomy expression crossed his face. He had made up his mind that if the Cherokee were to survive, they would have to surrender and seek a new way of life. “It will be hard for my people to change their ways . . . but they must do it. There is no other way for us.”
Boone and Hawk exchanged knowing glances. Both of them felt pity for the Indians that were caught in a part of history that baffled them. For hundreds of years the Cherokees had hunted in these lands without interference, and now suddenly there was this invasion of white settlers, pushing them farther and farther to the west. All three men knew there was only one end to that, but there was nothing that could be said about it that would change the situation.
“Let’s bait up,” Daniel said. He nodded to his horse, where a quarter of a deer was draped across the saddle horn. “Real fresh meat.”
“Good,” Hawk said. “I could use a good meal. We’ve traveled a ways today, and I’m starved.”
All three men tied their pack animals and horses out to graze. Then they gathered wood, and soon the smell of roasting meat filled the air. Their arduous travels required a tremendous amount of energy, so there was no spare flesh on any of them. They were all lean and hearty, and their muscles were strong, for they lived on meat, for the most part. They ate without ceremony, and when they were through, they all sat back.
“How’s your family, Daniel?” Hawk asked.
“Fine as froghair!” Boone spoke of his family for a while, and then finally inquired, “Did you hear about the new treaty with the Cherokees?”
“No,” Sequatchie spoke up at once, his eyes alert. “What sort of treaty?”
“Well, this fall at Lochaber—that’s in South Carolina—a fellow named Stuart negotiated a treaty with your people. You remember the one called the Hard Labor Line that gave the settlers rights to the upper Holsten valley?”
“Yes, I thought it was a fair treaty, but I thought that would end it. We’ve given up so much land already.”
Boone reached out and circled his knees with his arms, placing his chin on them. He stared off at the woods, studying the movement of the trees, listening intently—a habit of his. “Well, this time they gave the settlers a triangle of territory west of that land. It’s about seventy miles from Fort Chiswell to a new point six miles west of Long Island—Long Island of the Holsten.”
“The Long Island,” Sequatchie murmured. His eyes grew dreamy and he said, “It is the holy place of my people. They will never give up the Long Island.”
“I hope they won’t have to,” Boone nodded. “But there’ll be new settlers moving in there before long. It’s rich land. I crossed the Blue Ridge back in 1760.”
“I saw your sign there,” Sequatchie said.
“My sign?” Boone looked up.
“Yes, I found a tree with your carving, ‘D. Boone cilled a bar.’”
Boone smiled. “I’d forgotten about that. That was some bar, too! Big as a house he was, almost, and fat as a possum. Anyway, that’s good country there. It’s on the Watauga River. Traders been goin’ in and out of there a little bit, but nothin’ like we’re going to see.”
Over the Misty Mountains Page 19
