“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.”
“I’ll like it, Hawk!”
The assurance in her voice caught at him. “Pretty sure of that, are you?”
“Yes.”
He smiled suddenly, then nudged his horse into a fast gallop. Elizabeth kept up with him, and when he pulled up short and swung his arm forward in an abrupt gesture, she lifted her head—and then caught her breath.
“It’s beautiful!”
“Don’t know about that—but it’s good ground for planting crops.”
Elizabeth was stunned by the panorama that lay in front of them. A line of ragged mountains lifted to the east, green and rolling as they filled the horizon. To the west a series of short, choppy hills spilled out, and directly in front of them a third line of hogback ranges formed a valley.
She turned and whispered, “I know where I want the house.”
“Where?”
“Down there, in that space where the brook bends. You see? If we build it there, it’ll be as though the brook has thrown its arm around the house.”
Again Hawk was taken by the swift imagination of Elizabeth’s mind, but he said practically, “That’s the best spot, I’m thinking.”
She turned and smiled brillantly. “Did you really pick just that spot?”
“Sure did. Seems like we have the same tastes in cabins. Come along and we’ll see what’s to be done. . . .
****
In the days that followed, Elizabeth learned a great deal about building a log cabin. She was impatient to begin and would have begun hacking at the trees back of the meadow, but the first day of actual work, Hawk said, “Can’t build a cabin on dirt. Doesn’t the Bible say somewhere that a wise man doesn’t build his house on sand?”
“Yes, but this is dirt.”
“All the same. Now, the first thing we do is haul rocks from the creek for a foundation. You’re going to be sick of stones and rocks before this is over!”
Elizabeth denied this vehemently, but by the end of the day, his word proved prophetic. She wore blisters on her hands very quickly, and Hawk forbad her to do any more work. She drove the horses, pulling the sled that Hawk had built, while he loaded and unloaded the rocks.
“Now—for the sills,” Hawk said after the outline of the cabin was plainly marked with flat stones.
“What’s a sill?” Elizabeth asked.
“Beams or logs that rest on the foundation,” Hawk grinned, adding, “Then we can cut the sleepers.”
“Sleepers? What in the world is that?”
“The floor beams of the cabin. Then we put hewn boards on top of them.”
“Most of the cabins I’ve seen have dirt floors,” Elizabeth said. “Wouldn’t it be quicker that way?”
“Don’t want you to get your feet dirty,” Hawk said mildly. He had taken an interest in the cabin, and for some reason he wanted it to be the finest he was capable of raising. “After we get the floor in, I’ll plane it down nice and smooth. You’ll have the best cabin in the territory!”
Elizabeth turned to meet his gaze, and there were tears in her eyes. Her voice was not quite steady when she said, “It’ll be the house Patrick dreamed of, Hawk.”
Hawk had to bite his lips to keep back the words that almost jumped out: But he’ll never see it, Elizabeth. . . . He was rather mystified by her attitude. He knew that she grieved over her husband, although she never said so. She had lost weight since his death, and Andrew had once told him very confidentially, “My mom cries at night when she thinks we won’t hear her.” Then Andrew had added, “I do too . . . cry that is—sometimes.”
Hawk had said, “It’s all right to cry.”
“Do you ever cry, Hawk?” the boy had asked.
“I want to sometimes,” Hawk had told the boy. “Maybe I ought to. You loved your pa, so it’s all right.”
Now as he stood beside Elizabeth, he was reminded of the scene and wondered if Andrew still wept for his father. But aloud he said only, “Well, I’ll haul the stones for the fireplace tomorrow.”
“I’ll help you.”
“No, your hands are blistered already. You make a good dinner, and we’ll call that a bargain.”
The next morning he hauled more stones, and again Elizabeth drove the team back and forth from the creek to the cabin site. Andrew had insisted on helping with the stones, and once Elizabeth said quietly to Hawk, “He’s having such a good time. I . . . I’ve been worried about him.”
“He misses his father, doesn’t he?”
“Of course.” Elizabeth bit her lower lip, then said quietly, “So does Sarah—and I think sometimes I can’t go on without Patrick.”
Hawk had nothing to say to that, so he turned and walked down to the creek for more stones. The cabin raising gave him as much pleasure as hunting—which puzzled him. Finally he thought, I guess I’m building something that will last. When a man kills a deer, he eats it and that’s the end of it. But there’s something eternal about building a house.
When Elizabeth called out that lunch was ready, they all sat down on the ground and ate hungrily. She had broiled steaks over an open fire, and Hawk said, “These are fine—but wait until you get in your new house and have a fine new fireplace.”
“I’ll show you some cooking, indeed,” Elizabeth smiled. She looked at the huge pile of stones that waited to be fitted into a fireplace, then asked, “Is it hard to build a fireplace?”
“Hardest part of building a cabin. If your foundation is wrong,” Hawk said, “the whole thing will fall down. If the throat isn’t done right, it won’t draw, and you’ll cough the rest of your life from the smoke.”
“When will we start cutting trees?” Andy piped up.
“I’d say right after dinner.” Hawk remarked. “But don’t be in a hurry.”
“I can’t help it,” Andy protested. “I want to get it done so we can move in.”
Hawk grinned and ruffled the boy’s hair. “I guess I’d like to be sitting down in this cabin myself. But it takes time to do things that count.”
“Will I have a room of my own?” Sarah piped up.
“You and Andrew will sleep in the loft,” Elizabeth said. “You’ll have to climb up a ladder to go to bed. Won’t that be fun?”
Sarah thought it over, then slowly nodded. “Yes, it will be fun. Will I have my own bed?”
“Sure you will,” Hawk spoke up. “I’ll make it myself—but it won’t have but one leg.”
“One leg! It’ll fall down!”
“No it won’t, Sarah,” Hawk promised. “It’ll be fastened on three corners to the wall, and one leg will hold up the other corner.”
“Oh, that’s nice!” Sarah exclaimed. “When will you make it?”
“Got to have a cabin to put it in first.” Rising to his feet he said, “I guess we can go cut down our first tree. Anyone in here want to go?”
Hawk had no troubl
ed getting volunteers. Indeed, the two youngsters were so anxious, they protested when he took time to sharpen his ax. But finally they all walked across the meadow to the fine grove of straight trees that Hawk had decided to use.
The rest of the morning was a pure delight to the MacNeals. Hawk was a good man with an ax, and the three stood around and watched as he measured the first tree with his eye, then began cutting. The chips flew, and as the notch in the tall walnut tree grew, Andy said, “Which way will it fall, Hawk?”
“Over there—so don’t stand in that direction.”
Quickly the three moved away, and the chips seemed to fly as Hawk swung with machine-like precision, the blows of his ax echoing down the valley. Once he stopped to wipe his face and grinned at them. “A beaver could do a better job than this—but I don’t know how a man could train a beaver to cut down trees.”
Finally the tree seemed to shiver, and Hawk called out sharply, “Stand back, now!” The tree swayed, then fell to the earth with a crash.
“I wish I could chop down a tree like that!” Andrew said.
“Well, here’s your ax. I made the handle a little smaller just to fit you. Come along. I’ll mark the end, and you can cut it off.”
Elizabeth watched anxiously. Andy, as she had begun to call him because Hawk did, had not had any training with tools, but she saw Hawk show him exactly how to hold the ax, how to swing it, then how to cut at a different angle. Hawk stayed right with him until the boy grew tired.
“Now, let’s look at those hands.” He looked at Andy’s hands and said, “Well, they still got some blisters from haulin’ rock. You do a little today, a little tomorrow, and first thing you know they’ll look like mine.” He held out his hard, callused hands, and Andy ran his over them.
“I want to work today!” he protested.
“Be plenty of time, boy,” he said. “We’ve got lots of trees to cut down.”
At midafternoon, Hawk hitched up his horse to one of the logs. Handing the lines to Andrew, he said, “All right. Let’s see you drive him.”
Over the Misty Mountains Page 29
