“Well, I’ll tell you how you can tell how far a storm is. Now, wait until the next lightning bolt, and as soon it comes, you start counting slowly like this. One—two—three. Like that. See?”
“All right, Papa.”
The pair watched the dark clouds, and almost immediately a monstrous finger of lightning scratched the sky and lit up the whole horizon. At once Sarah began counting, “One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five . . .” When she said twenty-five, the air was filled with a loud rumble of thunder.
“There—the storm is five miles away. It took twenty-five seconds for the sound to get here.”
“Five miles?” Sarah’s eyes grew wide. “That’s not very far, is it?”
“Not really. It’s going to be a bad storm, I think. I want you and Andrew and your mother to get into the wagon.”
“What are you going to do, Papa?”
“The horses might get real jumpy with that lightning flashing around. I’ll tend to them.”
Hawk galloped his horse down the train, saying, “Tie everything down! This is going to be a bad blow!” He stopped to say to the Russells, “As a matter of fact, if we had time, I wouldn’t mind tying the wagons to trees.”
“You think it’s a tornado?” John Russell asked with alarm.
“I don’t know what it is, but if Sequatchie says it’s a bad one—well, you can count on it being a bad one!”
Within minutes the wind struck with a gale force that was almost unbelievable. The canvas tied across the wagon ends ripped loose of several wagons at once, and the tremendous deluge poured in, half drowning the occupants and soaking everything. It was futile to try to tie the canvas down, and those who lost the tops simply huddled together, shaking from the cold rain.
Hawk and Sequatchie had tied their horses down securely, and now Hawk ran from wagon to wagon shouting, “Get under the wagon! You could get hit by lightning!”
When he got to the Taylor wagon, he saw that Taylor was almost paralyzed with fear.
“We’re all gonna die,” Taylor said, sitting with his head buried in his hands.
“We’re not going to die! Get out here and unhitch this team! We’ve got to get them tied off! They might run away! You should’ve already done that!”
But Taylor was beyond helping himself, so Hawk and George Russell unhitched the team and tied them. Then they helped Mrs. Taylor and Amanda get under the wagon.
“What about him?” Russell asked Hawk, nodding to Taylor, who shook at each peal of thunder.
“I don’t care if he does get hit by lightning,” Hawk murmured.
“It’s a bad one, ain’t it?” Russell muttered. The water was running off of his hat in a cascade, and he, like all the others, was as wet as if he’d been thrown into a river.
“Yes, it’s going to get worse, I reckon.” Hawk said.
The winds howled with a tornadolike force, although the travelers saw no funnels, which they all dreaded. Hawk leaned against the wind and made his way to the MacNeal wagon, where he found them all huddled underneath except Patrick. “Are you all right under there?” he yelled against the screaming of the wind.
“We’re all right,” Elizabeth said. “Come on under here.”
“No, I’ll help Patrick with the horses.” He looked over and saw Rhoda, who was holding Sarah MacNeal. The girl had buried her face against the woman. Andrew was watching with enormous eyes, and Hawk reached over and gently punched him. “It’ll be all right, Andy. Just another storm. It’ll pass by, and tomorrow the sun will be out shining.”
The words immediately drove the fear out of the boy, and he said, “Can I come out and help you and Pa with the horses?”
“No, you stay here and take care of your mother, son. A woman needs a man with her at a time like this.”
At once Andrew said, “Sure, Hawk,” and moved over and put his arm around his mother.
Elizabeth winked at Hawk and said, “You’re right about that. Andrew will take care of me.”
Finally the wind began to lessen, and Sequatchie wiped the water from his face. He wore no hat and rivulets ran down his face and neck. “Good,” he said. “It’s over now.”
Thirty minutes later, the rains slacked off and then stopped completely. Paul Anderson came struggling out, covered with mud, from where he had been lying under the wagon.
Hawk reached down and helped him to his feet. “Well, preacher. You look like one of those mud cats we used to catch out of the river, except you’re uglier!”
Anderson grinned, his teeth white against his muddy face. “I guess I am,” he said. “It was bad, wasn’t it?”
“It was one of the worst I’ve seen, but I think the wagons are all intact.” He looked at Paul and said, “Did you do your praying like Sequatchie asked?”
“Yes, I did. I know you don’t believe, but I believe in praying about everything—including storms.”
“I hope you always believe like that, Paul,” Hawk said simply. He slapped his friend on the shoulder and said, “I’ll tell you what. I think we ought to get some fires going and dry everything out before we go any farther. Everybody’s had a bad drenching.”
****
Hawk wisely decided that the morale of the train had deteriorated to such an extent that they needed a few days to rest. He amazed them by going around to each wagon and starting a fire, though every stick of wood in the forest seemed drenched. Finally, he showed them how to make racks out of saplings to dry their clothes. He and the men cut down trees and brought in enough firewood to make huge bonfires. He directed the women in cooking what food was left, then he and Sequatchie went out and an hour later came back with the carcass of a huge bear!
“Nothing like bear meat to put some spizzerinctum in ya!” He grinned as he and Sequatchie dressed out the huge animal.
“What are you going to do with the skin, Hawk?” Andrew asked.
“I’m going to give it to you, if you want it. It will make you a nice rug on the floor of your new home, Andrew.”
“Do you really mean it, Hawk?”
Hawk reached out and rubbed the boy’s head. “Of course I mean it. It’ll be pretty smelly for a while, but I’ll show you how to scrape it. We’ll fix a rack for it, and you’ll have the best bearskin rug in the whole country.”
Elizabeth squeezed Patrick’s arm and whispered, “That’s wonderful. He looks up to Hawk.”
“Yes, he does. I’m glad of it, but I wish Hawk would turn back to God. We need to help Hawk find his way back to God.”
Sequatchie, who had been skinning the bear, waited until he was alone with Hawk, and then he said, “That was good. What you did for the boy.”
“Ah, it’s just a bearskin. There are lots of other bears in this woods.”
Sequatchie wanted to say, “Your own son could use something like this,” but he did not. He kept his lips closed firmly together, but later he went to have a long talk with Paul Anderson.
Anderson listened intently, even though he already knew most of what was eating at Hawk Spencer. “He’s wrong about Jake,” Paul said. “He’s lost the best part of raising him, and now the boy’s how old, fourteen? And it’s killing Hawk. You know a man can get killed as surely from something like this as he can from a bullet in a brain.”
“Yes, he is a bitter man. Bitter at himself.” Sequatchie nodded sadly.
As Sequatchie moved away, Anderson watched him go, thinking, That Cherokee has more wisdom than most graduates of William and Mary.
****
The next day they reached a swollen creek that was more like a river. Hawk stood looking down at the muddy brown waters that rolled past, measuring the distance to the other side. The men all came to stand with him, and the women stayed behind, some holding the children, their eyes filled with consternation.
“That’s a mighty bad river,” John Russell muttered.
“Too bad,” another settler said. “Ain’t no way to get across that.”
“What do you think, Hawk?” P
aul Anderson said.
“It is a bad river. I think we’re going to have to wait, but the trouble is it’s been raining over there.” He pointed to the east. “Up in those mountains. They’re all full of water, and it’s still raining.”
Sequatchie, who was standing nearby said, “Yes, there is still rain over there.”
“What does that mean, Hawk?” John Russell asked.
“It means this creek’s going to be up for a long time. Maybe a week, or even two.”
A groan rose from the group, and they began complaining and muttering. “Now—what are you going to do about it?” one of the men, a tall, lanky individual named Simmons, asked Hawk. He was truculent and always seemed to argue about everything.
“Well, I think I’ll just wave my staff over it like Moses did, then we can cross like the Israelites did the Red Sea,” Hawk said. “Would that suit you, Simmons?”
“You don’t have to be makin’ fun of the Bible!” Simmons snapped.
“Then you don’t have to be asking me what we’re going to do! I can’t control that river!” Hawk snapped back.
“Hawk’s right,” George Russell said. “We’ll just have to wait it out.”
The men went back to their wagons and set up camp. They waited for five days, and during that time, the river did not go down one inch. Day after day, the strong current scoured the banks, sometimes pulling trees down, tearing them out by their roots and rolling and tossing them upside down.
Hawk kept to himself. Hunting was hard, and he stayed out in the dense forest, looking for game. They had run out of salt. What little they had had been spoiled by the first storm, and those not accustomed to going without complained about the blandness of the meat.
When the river finally went down, Simmons and a few others came to Hawk and said, “We can cross that river now. I’ve crossed worse streams.”
Hawk looked at the water carefully. Though it appeared smooth enough, Hawk shook his head. “That river’s still treacherous. If the animals step in a hole that’s been gouged out by the current, they could disappear.”
But Simmons was insistent. “We can send a rider across—or you can go. And if a horse can make it, a team and a wagon can surely make it.”
Hawk refused at first, but after another day the river did seem calm enough. “What do you think, Sequatchie?” he asked.
“May be safe now.”
Hawk hesitated, then said, “All right.” He looked at the men who were waiting and said, “Get hitched up. I think we can try it.” Instantly everyone flew into action, and soon all the pack animals and wagons were ready. “I’ll let you try it, Sequatchie.” Hawk grinned. He slapped his friend on the shoulder and said, “Don’t let anything happen to you. You hear me?”
“It is not my time.”
Hawk looked with surprise at the Indian. “What do you mean, not your time? You don’t know when you’re going to die.”
“I know it will not be today. The good Lord Jesus has given me peace.”
Hawk looked at his friend grimly and muttered, “I wish He’d give me some.” Then, as if ashamed of uttering the words, he said, “All right. Go ahead and see how safe the bottom of that river is.”
Sequatchie mounted his horse, and everyone gathered to watch as he made his way across. The horse, a sturdy buckskin, moved slowly, held back by Sequatchie’s hands. The water came up to his stomach, and then a little higher. They all held their breath—but then he reached shallower water, and Sequatchie’s mount climbed out on the other side. He turned and waved. “If you come exactly as I have come, it will be all right.”
“Let’s go,” Hawk said. “We’ll cross one at a time.” He rode across with the first team, determined to take every precaution. George Russell was mounted on the opposite side. He felt the power of the current as it moved the wagon sideways more than five feet. Hawk’s horse was nearly caught and momentarily floundered, but he tugged at the bridle and yelled to the team, as did Russell on the other side, and the animals’ hooves found safe footing.
When they reached the other bank, Russell looked at Hawk and said, “I didn’t like the feel of that. That current’s still mighty strong.”
“You’re right about that,” Hawk said. “We’ll have to go ahead now. We can’t be on both sides of this creek.”
The next three wagons went over with little difficulty, for Russell and Hawk were aware of the power of the current now, and they had directed the others to the solid bottom. Sarah sat in the wagon seat between her father and mother when their turn came. She was frightened and reached out and grasped for her father’s hand. He took it and looked down at her. “Why, you’re not afraid, are you, Sarah?”
“I am scared,” Sarah whispered, her face so pale that her freckles stood out.
Her manner of speaking brought concern to the face of Patrick MacNeal. “Why, you don’t have to worry. You’ve seen those other wagons go over safely.”
“I’m afraid of water, Papa!” Sarah cried out.
Her parents glanced at each other. They knew her fear was real. Sarah, unlike Andrew who loved the water, could never be enticed to go swimming or do anything but get her feet wet on the banks of lakes or creeks. “It’ll be all right,” Elizabeth assured her. “We’ll be on the other side soon. You’ll see.”
Rhoda was riding her horse beside the wagon, and she too saw the fright in the girl’s face. She called out, “Don’t worry, Sarah, it’ll be all right!” The child, trying to smile, looked at her and waved.
They started across with Hawk and Russell leading the team, and at first everything went well. But then, without warning, a sunken log struck the rear wheels of the wagon. Elizabeth made a grab for the seat, almost slipping into the murky waters below. Then she saw Sarah, who had lost her white-knuckled grip, thrown off balance. She watched in horror as Sarah suddenly fell out into the muddy waters.
“Sarah!” Elizabeth screamed, and would have gone after her, but Patrick reached out and grabbed her.
“Here, you hold the team. I’ll get her!” Patrick said, handing the lines to Elizabeth.
Hawk had already seen the child fall. Seeing her pale face disappear as she tried to scream, he drove his horse forward. When the horse stumbled and went down, he swam with strong strokes. For the first time in years, he prayed, although he was not fully aware of doing so. Oh, God, let me find her. Let her come up again, so I can see her . . . !
Even as he prayed, the child surfaced only a few feet in front of him, struggling to keep her head up. With two powerful strokes, he lunged and reached for her, catching her hair in his hands. He pulled her up, rolled over on his back, and whispered, “It’s all right now, Sarah. Don’t be afraid!”
Hawk could hear the yells of the others from the riverbank, and the power of the current had him, but he was a strong swimmer. He held Sarah’s head high in the air as he swam on his back with one arm. Soon his feet touched bottom, and he turned and put both arms under Sarah. The mud sucked at his feet, but he climbed out onto the bank, and when he was clear of the river, he sat down and held the trembling girl.
“Are you all right, sweetheart?”
Sarah buried her face in his chest, sobbing. He put his arms around her and held her, feeling her body tremble in violent spasms. “You’re all right, aren’t you, honey?” he asked anxiously.
“Y-yes, but I was so afraid!”
Hawk felt a wash of relief. He suddenly thought, Well, that’s one prayer that God answered. . . . Looking over to where Russell was helping the team ashore, he saw Elizabeth standing up and holding her hand over her bosom. Patrick was urging the team forward like a maniac, his face pale.
“It’s all right! It’s all right!” Hawk yelled. “She’s fine!”
Finally, Hawk got up and walked down the side of the river, carrying the girl. She seemed so very small and fragile to him. By the time he got to the wagons, Elizabeth had leaped down, and she and Patrick had come to take the child. Hawk surrendered her to them and turned and
walked away.
Rhoda came over at once. She got off her horse and said, “It’s a good thing you were there or she would’ve drowned.”
“She might have,” Hawk said, wiping the water from his face.
Rhoda looked at the river, and then back at the couple holding the weeping child. Andrew had come now and stood beside them, reaching out to pat his sister on the back. “It would have killed them if that girl had died.”
“I think you’re right,” Hawk nodded.
“I know what preacher Anderson will say,” Rhoda said suddenly.
“What?”
“He’ll say that God was in it. That He had you in that place, at that time, just to save that child.”
“That’s what Sequatchie will say, too.” Hawk nodded, a grin pulling the corners of his lips upward.
“You know, I never thought about God much before this trip.”
Surprised, Hawk looked down at the woman. “Are you afraid of death, Rhoda?”
“Sure I am! Aren’t you?”
Hawk considered the question. “I put it out of my mind. That’s a foolish thing to do, I guess. My father and mother taught me better. You haven’t been converted, have you?”
“The likes of me? What kind of a Christian would I make? You know what I’ve been!”
Hawk put his hand on the girl’s shoulder. Her honesty touched him. He knew she had had a hard life, and now he remembered many things about her. “Don’t listen to people like me,” he said. “You listen to Paul and to the MacNeals and to Sequatchie. They’ve got the right of it.”
“Well, what about you? You won’t listen to them.”
Hawk stared at the girl. His black hair was plastered against his face, and he looked at her strangely. “I’m a fool,” he said, “but that’s no reason for you to be one. You listen to the preacher.” He turned and walked away, and Rhoda looked after him wonderingly.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Living Water
After the traumatic crossing of the river, Hawk decided it would be best for the group to stop for the rest of the day. It would also give the horses time to rest after fighting the strong current. The MacNeals were still shaken over the ordeal. Elizabeth had quickly taken Sarah to change her clothes while Patrick started a fire.
Over the Misty Mountains Page 26
