Over the Misty Mountains

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Oh, I mean I don’t know enough Cherokee to preach in it yet, although I try a little. So I preach in English and Sequatchie translates for me. But I think sometimes he’s not happy with my theology, so he changes my sermon to fit his own viewpoints.”

  Humor again glinted in the eyes of Sequatchie, but he said nothing.

  Paul looked around the cabin and smiled with satisfaction. Leaning back in his chair, he shook his head. “I can’t believe how beautiful you made your house,” he said.

  Elizabeth had worked hard at it, and she was tremendously proud of how warm and welcome the cabin was. “Well, it was mostly Hawk,” she said, “and the neighbors. Everyone was so good, but it’s been fun to decorate it.”

  “A little bit different from your house in Boston, I would think,” Paul said.

  Elizabeth smiled and nodded. “I feel differently about this place. It’s mine. Mine and the children’s. I never did a bit of work on the house at home.”

  “You’ve made a wonderful adjustment, Elizabeth. You and these two young’uns here. They look like they were born on the frontier.”

  As they sat there talking, Paul listened while Elizabeth and Hawk told him the news of the growing community. After a moment, he asked with some diffidence, “How about Rhoda?”

  Elizabeth gave him a peculiar look. There was something in his tone that piqued her interest. “Rhoda has done wonderfully well. She stays with us a lot, and visits, and helps with the work here . . . but her own house is finished now. It was so good of you, Paul, to see that she got a place of her own to live in.”

  “I expect she’s married by this time. A single woman, and a nice-looking one, too.”

  “No, she’s not married, though she’s had several offers. As a matter of fact, some of the men have pestered her to death to marry them.”

  “They don’t mind her past?” Paul asked. “I was afraid she’d have a hard time about that.”

  “They don’t seem to mind—at least some of them don’t. Of course, a few still throw it up to her, but she’s gotten along well.”

  “What are you going to be doing now, Preacher?” Hawk asked. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table and studied the face of his friend with interest. He had half expected that Anderson would not be able to bear the rigors of the frontier and would give it up, but apparently Paul had thrived on the hard winter travel.

  “I’m going to stay around here if you can put up with me,” Paul said. “I think the folks here might be able to listen to my preaching for a while.”

  “That would be so fine!” Elizabeth said, clapping her hands. “We’re going to start a little school for the children, and you can help with that.”

  “What about you, Sequatchie? Are you going back with your people?”

  “Yes,” he nodded. “I will go soon.”

  Hawk hesitated, then said, “Why don’t you help me get this land plowed and put Elizabeth’s garden in, then I’ll go back with you.”

  “Good, you have not been with us for a long time.”

  A shadow passed Elizabeth’s face as Hawk spoke of leaving, and Hawk himself, Paul noticed, seemed somewhat unhappy over it. Those two seem to have an odd effect on each other, Paul thought as he sat there listening to the talk go around the table.

  Soon after breakfast Paul excused himself and hurried away, saying that he had to visit the other families. Sequatchie stayed to help plow the land, and Paul waved as he mounted his horse and rode away. He went at once to Rhoda’s cabin and was pleased that she was outside getting ready to plant a garden. Hawk had broken the ground for her already. It was a small plot. As Paul rode up, he saw her face turn toward him, and he was pleased when she instantly smiled, waved, dropped her spade, and came forward to meet him.

  “Paul!” she said. “When did you get in? I’m so glad to see you!” Her eyes glowed with a warm welcome, and when she took Paul’s hands, a thrill went through him.

  “Well, Sequatchie and I just got in this morning. We had breakfast with Elizabeth, and I rode right over.”

  “Come and sit down. I’ve got some sassafras tea. You can tell me all about your trip.”

  It was a pleasant hour for Paul. He had indeed undergone some hardships during the winter. He had slept on the cold ground and traveled when the snow was deep. There had been some danger, although Sequatchie had not told him this very often. He had faced real disappointments, too, which he spoke of freely to Rhoda.

  “It’s very difficult to preach to the Indians. You just can’t tell what they’re thinking,” Paul said as he sat across the table from her. The cabin was snug and well chinked, and light was streaming in through the window. Rhoda had taken the covering off, and now as a fire burned cheerfully in the fireplace, he felt very much at home. “I preach as well as I can, and sometimes they sit there and listen and then get up and leave without a word.”

  “That must be very discouraging,” Rhoda said. She was somewhat shocked at her emotions, for she had not known how much she had missed the minister. She knew well that his kindness to her had come at a time when she needed it, and though she had fared through the winter without great difficulty, there had been days when she felt lonely. She had stayed alone for much of the time, and now his cheerful smile and his laughter seemed to fill the cabin. She listened as he continued to speak with enthusiasm about his ministry.

  Finally he said, “You’ll have to put up with me for a little while.”

  “You’re staying here?”

  “Yes, for several months, I think.”

  “Oh, Paul, that’s wonderful! I’m so glad.”

  “You are?” Paul said, lifting his eyebrows with some surprise. “That’s good to hear.”

  Rhoda was wearing a simple brown dress, but she had just washed her dark brown hair, and there was a peace about her that had not been there the previous fall. True enough, she still seemed tense and there was something in her that he wished he could reach out and touch and heal, but he could not identify it.

  They sat for over an hour in the cabin, and then Rhoda took him outside and gave him a tour around her place. “Hawk and the others showed me how to make the claim. It’ll be mine one day,” she said. “If you build a cabin and stay on it for a year, the land belongs to you.”

  “I’m glad, Rhoda. You’ve got a fine place here.”

  “Of course, a woman can’t do as much as a man, but I’ve been finding out something, Paul.”

  “What’s that?”

  “There are good men in this world. For a long time I didn’t think so, you know. I was even suspicious of you. I guess I saw the worst side of men for so long, I built a wall around myself, but coming here and getting to know good people has changed all that.”

  He turned to her and suddenly reached out his hands. She took them without thinking, and he held them for a moment. There was a sudden understanding that came to her as she realized, Why, this man truly cares for me! It was different from what she had seen in other men. She looked up at him as he smiled at her.

  “How about if I come by and help you some,” Paul said.

  “Why . . . why, thank you, Paul,” Rhoda stammered, feeling a strange flush on her cheeks.

  She smiled, and the warmth of his hands felt good on her own. He had strong hands, browned by the sun now, and when he squeezed hers she had a feeling that she had not felt for many years. Maybe it’s going to be all right, she thought. He took her hand then, and they walked for some time around the place, and Rhoda Harper felt like a young girl again.

  ****

  By early April, Hawk and Sequatchie had done most of the work on the garden. Sequatchie had gone off to hunt, and Elizabeth and the children helped Hawk as he worked putting in more rows of corn. Every day Elizabeth felt more and more satisfied with her new home. She was sleeping better now, and although she thought of Patrick every day, the passage of time had done much to heal the immediacy of her grief. She had to remind herself that she had promised Patrick not to grieve, and
somehow she had managed to find peace in her heart. She knew it came from God, and now as she watched the tall man hoeing in the field, she realized how much she owed to Hawk.

  “Mama, look! Somebody’s coming!”

  Hawk had heard the sound of a horse approaching, too, and at once turned, his eyes ever vigilant. The rider was a tall man with a pair of steady gray eyes.

  “Hello,” he said, not dismounting. “My name’s James Robertson.”

  “I know. I met you at the meeting last fall when Preacher Anderson spoke.”

  “Yes, I remember you. You’re Hawk Spencer.”

  “Get down and rest yourself, Mr. Robertson. I’m Elizabeth MacNeal, and these are my children, Sarah and Andrew.”

  Robertson got off his horse stiffly and stretched. “Well, I’ve had a long journey,” he said.

  “Have you breakfasted yet?”

  “No, I haven’t, as a matter of fact.”

  “There’s plenty left,” Elizabeth said. “Please come inside.”

  Hawk left the field and came inside to sit down. He had been hearing much about James Robertson and wanted to know more about the man. He sat there not eating, but watching as the tall man put away a fine breakfast. He knew the country well, and the politics also.

  Elizabeth finally said, “It seems like you’ve met everybody in Holston country, Mr. Robertson.”

  “Well, I’ve tried to.” A frown came to him and he turned to Hawk. “I’ve really come to see you, Hawk.”

  “Me? Why is that?”

  “Do you know anything about what’s going on back in North Carolina?”

  “No. Not a thing. What is it?”

  Robertson’s lips grew grim. “There’s some mighty fine folks there who are in considerable difficulty. Some very rich landowners in the eastern part of the colony are making it hard on these folks.”

  “Why don’t they just sell out and leave?”

  “That’s exactly what they want to do,” Robertson shot back. “I’ve been talking to William Bean and some of the other leaders, and every one of them suggests that you might be the man to hire.”

  “Well, I don’t hire out much, Mr. Robertson. And I’m about done with Mrs. MacNeal’s garden, so I’m headed back for the Cherokee village where I’m a little overdue. I’ve got to go get some deerskins, too. I’m behind on my hunting.”

  “I thought you might say that, but just hear me out.” Robertson was a persuasive man, and he sat there talking for some time. Finally, after he had presented his case, he said, “So you see I need someone to go bring those folks here. They need to get away, and I’d be willing to pay you well to be their guide. More than you would make hunting deer and trading skins and furs.”

  Hawk did not really want to go and said, “Well, I’ve been helping Mrs. MacNeal around here.”

  “I really think we can handle it now that you got the garden in, Hawk, and Paul will be here. It would be nice to have more neighbors,” Elizabeth said.

  Hawk thought quickly, then said, “How long do you think it would take them to clear up their affairs?”

  “They’re ready to go now if someone would come and guide them over the mountains.”

  He named his sum and Hawk was surprised at the wages that Robertson offered. Calculating quickly, he knew he would have to work a long time to shoot enough deer, and dress hides, and then trade them to earn the equivalent.

  Seeing Hawk’s surprise, Robertson said, “And this would be in hard money. Not in trade goods.”

  Hawk said slowly, “Well, I’ll do it. Maybe Sequatchie would like to go with me. He’s anxious to go home, but two of us could do better than one on this job.”

  After Robertson left, Andrew came to Hawk and said, “Do you have to go?”

  “I’m afraid I do, Andy, and that’ll mean you’ll have to be the man of the house.” He put his arm on the boy’s shoulder and squeezed it. Smiling down he said, “You can handle it, can’t you?”

  Andrew MacNeal looked up into Hawk’s eyes, and there was love in his face and trust, and he nodded proudly. “Yes, sir. I’ll do the best I know how.”

  “That’s all any man can do, Andy.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The Regulators

  Hawk and Sequatchie made the trip to North Carolina quickly, and on the first week of May, they arrived. The first people they met were a family named Stevens. George Stevens, who welcomed them, was a tall man, well over six feet, with gray eyes and reddish brown hair turning gray at the temples. George had lost his first wife several years before, and now introduced his second wife, Deborah.

  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?”