“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.”
Deborah Stevens was a faithful Methodist and had been working on Paul to get him to liven up his preaching a little. Now she said to Rhoda, “Has Reverend Anderson said anything about a brush arbor meeting?”
Sarah MacNeal looked at her with an odd expression. “What’s a brush arbor meeting?”
“Oh, we just make a big covering out of saplings, and we have preaching sometimes for a week or a month between the time we lay the crops by and wait for harvest,” Deborah said. “It’s about the best preachin’ there is. We go early in the morning and hear preaching, and then we eat at noon, and go back for the afternoon and get more. Then we eat supper, and sometimes the preachin’ goes on until midnight. Sometimes people shout and holler.” Her eyes lit up. “I’ve done so myself many a time.”
George made a face. “She tries to get me to do the same, and I tell her the Spirit don’t move me in that direction.”
“I think the Spirit moves you that way. You’re just too stuck up and stubborn and proud!” Deborah said.
Hawk listened as the talk went around, and finally when a silence fell, he said, “I remember going to those meetings when I was just a boy. They were Methodist meetings, too. It seems like the Methodists and the Baptists could always shout louder, jump higher, and fall down to the ground more than anybody I ever saw. I’m not sure all that’s of the Lord, but I saw some real good folks who believe in it.”
Deborah smiled at him. “Why, thank you, Hawk. I’m glad to hear there’s one other person here who’s got a little judgment about things like that.”
Elizabeth smiled but covered it up. “It seems like Paul’s torn between this settlement and the Indians. When he goes back to the village, we don’t see him sometimes for months.”
“That’s right. I think we need a permanent preacher here,” George said. “I wonder if Brother Anderson would consider it.”
“I doubt it.” Hawk shook his head. “He’s mighty given to returning with Sequatchie and preaching to those Cherokees, and they love him, too. I never saw them take to a white man the way they take to him.”
“Why is that, do you suppose?” Elizabeth asked.
“Well, for one thing, he loves those Indians and they know it. You can’t fool an Indian about a thing like that.”
“I don’t think you can fool anybody about that,” Elizabeth said quietly.
“Well, I been fooled a few times,” Hawk grinned. “But anyway, I don’t think you’ll ever nail Paul Anderson down to one place. He’s not as much a wanderin’ man like me. I go sometimes just to see what’s on the other side of the mountains. Paul, he goes to find a heathen to preach to.” He tasted another bit of the cake that Elizabeth had made and nodded at Andy, who had heard very little of this, for he was whispering to Abby. Then Hawk turned and said, “But as long as he’s got a heathen like me to work with, I guess he won’t have to go too far.”
After the meal, Hawk and Elizabeth moved outside, and he walked her home to her cabin. The children were staying all night with the Stevenses, which suited both Andrew and Sarah. They had begged so hard that Elizabeth couldn’t say no. They always stayed up in the loft.
When they got to the cabin door, Elizabeth looked over in the direction of Hawk’s lean-to and said, “It’s a shame you don’t have your own cabin and have to live in that old shack. Don’t you get tired of it?”
“It’s the most house I’ve had for fifteen years,” he said. “Most of the time in the woods I just roll up in a blanket.”
“And when it rains do you get wet?”
“That’s what happens when you get out in the rain,” Hawk said. The two stood there talking. It had grown darker, and now the stars were out.
Elizabeth looked up at the sky and said, “I wish I knew their names. We all have names.”
“I guess a fella could learn them, but who’s got time for that?”
“I think we ought to make time for things like that.” She pointed and said, “That’s the Dipper, the Big Dipper. I know that.”
“That’s right, and there’s the Little Dipper.”
“Where?”
“Look right there at the top of the Dipper, the big one. It makes a line. Just follow it.” She could not see it, so he got behind her and said, “Okay,” putting his hand over her shoulder and pointing. “Now, look right along my finger.” He moved his head down so that it was right next to hers. Her hair brushed against him, and he could smell the fresh scent of soap and, very faintly, some sort of lilac perfume.
“I still don’t see it,” she said with one eye closed. Then suddenly she was conscious of how close he was. She turned around slowly, and his arm was still over her shoulder. Without thinking, he pulled her close and kissed her. It was a kiss that stirred Elizabeth MacNeal to the very fiber of her being. Except for a few innocent pecks before she married, Elizabeth had kissed no man in her life except Patrick. It took her off guard, and she felt so strange being touched and held and kissed by a man. His lips were firm on hers, but his hold was gentle. If he had grabbed her, she would have been offended at once and shoved herself away, but he held her tenderly, and she gave herself to his embrace.
Hawk felt the soft curves of her body, and they stirred the hungers that a man, especially a lonely man, feels for a woman. He had always considered her one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, and now as he held her, savoring the wild sweetness of her kiss, everything else seemed to fade away. He forgot the forest, and he forgot about all of the trials and difficulties of his life. There was nothing but this woman in his arms, yielding herself to his embrace.
Then Elizabeth stepped back. Her lips were trembling, and she turned away from him.
Hawk thought she was angry. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. I didn’t plan to do that,” he apologized.
“It’s all right,” she said, still turned away. She could not face him, for the kiss had shaken her more than she could have imagined. She had never once thought of loving any other man, but now with the touch of his lips still so near, she knew she would think of this moment and be disturbed for weeks to come. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face him. Her expression was serious and she said, “You’re the first man I ever kissed, except for Patrick.”
Hawk looked down at her. “He was a good man. You’ll never find another one like him.”
“No, I never will,” Elizabeth said. “But then I don’t want to. He was who he was. God made him exactly the way He wanted. He makes other men in other ways. He made you what you are.”
Hawk was quiet for a moment. “Well, I made pretty much of a mess of what God made,” he said. There was a heaviness in his voice, and he looked at her. “I’m sorry about the kiss. Good-night.”
He turned and walked away, but Elizabeth called after him and ran and caught him. “I’m not angry,” she said. “And you mustn’t think so. I think about you so much, Hawk. You don’t know how I feel. If it hadn’t been for you we wouldn’t have a home. I don’t know what would’ve become of us,” she said quietly. “And the children dote on you. I think there’s something in you that wants to get out. People love you, but you’ve built a wall around yourself.”
> Hawk listened as she continued to speak. He, too, had been stirred by the embrace, and he knew that this woman had wisdom beyond most women. He could not answer her for a while, then finally he said, “In all that, you may be right, but I’m still pretty much of a lost man.” He thought for a moment and said, “Someone asked Daniel Boone if he was ever lost, and he said, ‘Nope, I got confused once for a couple of weeks, but I’m never lost. Not in the woods.’”
Overhead, the wind sighed in the trees, and an owl made a soft call, and Hawk said, “I think I’m lost, Elizabeth. Not in the woods, but somewhere in my own heart.” He turned quickly without another word and disappeared into the darkness.
Chapter Thirty-One
Rhoda and the Preacher
It had been almost a ritual—Paul’s coming and having supper with Rhoda Harper. Hawk had warned him, “I’m not one to gossip, but some around here are. You keep on seeing Rhoda like you have, and there’s bound to be talk.”
Paul Anderson thought of Hawk’s words now as he sat with Rhoda in front of her cabin. He had come over, eaten supper, then the two had washed up the dishes, and gone out to sit on the bench backed against the logs of the small cabin. Paul had been telling her of the meetings that he’d been having in the area. “It seems like the settlers want more church services. They’ve asked me to be a regular minister here.”
“Will you do it, Paul?”
“No, I can’t. I’ve still got to go to the Indians.”
“What will happen if they get a regular preacher? Will you come back here?”
“Well, not a great deal. There wouldn’t be any need for me then.”
Rhoda was troubled over this and tried to picture life without the good humor and the many helpful things that Paul Anderson found to do for her. She finally said, “I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you.”
“What trouble? I’ve enjoyed all of it. It was fun building the cabin, and we’ve had fun with the garden, too.” He grinned ruefully and looked at her. The moon was coming up now clearly in the sky, a huge disc. It was a harvest moon, for mid-September had come in the year 1771. “I’m not much of a gardener, but we did get a fair crop for a couple of amateurs, didn’t we?”
Over the Misty Mountains Page 33
