“We didn’t know one end of a row from the other, did we, Paul? You remember I wanted to plant some crops under the trees so I could work in the shade, and everybody laughed at me?”
“That wasn’t as foolish as some of the things I did, but it’s a good garden, and I’ve enjoyed it more than anything I’ve done in a long time.” He turned to her and said, “I’ve never told you how much I admire you, Rhoda.”
Accustomed to men using sweet words as a ploy for physical intimacy, Rhoda turned to Paul and studied his face carefully. The silver light of the moon highlighted his cheekbones, and she noticed that his jaw, which was very prominent, gave him a stubborn appearance. But there was an honesty in his eyes, as always, and she knew that he meant nothing indecent by the remark.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, seeing her drop her head and become silent.
“I don’t know. I just feel like there’s something in me that can never be cleaned out.” She looked at him suddenly and said, “I don’t want you to come here anymore, Paul. It’s not right for a preacher to spend time with a bad woman like me.”
“Rhoda,” Paul said quietly, “if you’re bad, it’s the same way that I’m bad. The Scriptures say that there is none that doeth good and sinneth not.”
“You haven’t sinned as much as I have,” she said stubbornly.
“It doesn’t matter. The Bible says that all sin is bad. The things I’ve done wrong may be different from the things you’ve done, but we both have one thing in common. Like everybody else, we need God’s forgiveness, and I want you to find it, Rhoda.”
There was a long silence, and suddenly Rhoda was surprised to feel two tears roll down her cheeks. The simple trust and obvious admiration of Paul Anderson had long been a mystery to her. He knew many of the terrible things that she had done. She had mentioned it to him more than once, and now she whispered again, “You can’t know the awful life I’ve led, Paul. You think you do, but you don’t. All the men—all the drunkenness—you just can’t know!”
Paul Anderson suddenly knew that God had softened Rhoda’s heart. At once he began speaking gently but very insistently. He quoted Scripture after Scripture, and finally he said, “Rhoda.” He turned her around to face him. Tears ran down her cheeks, making silver trails as they caught the reflection of the moon. “I know you feel terrible. I know your life was bad, but I don’t think you understand. We can never shock God.”
Rhoda stared at him. “What do you mean by that?”
“Well, I would be disappointed if you told me you’d do something and then you didn’t do it. Or if you did something wrong—but God knows everything that’s in our hearts. He knows the hairs of our head. They’re numbered. He knows all about us, Rhoda. He knows every sin you ever committed, and He isn’t shocked.” Paul thought about how to say it better. “God is grieved with our sins, but never shocked. So the things that you would be ashamed to tell me, you can tell God. He already knows them.”
Rhoda had never thought of this. She was silent for a long time, and finally she whispered, “Do you think I could become like you, and like Elizabeth?”
“Why, of course you could!” Paul said at once, and exultation filled him. “God’s just been waiting for you to ask that question.”
Paul continued to quote Scriptures concerning salvation. As Paul watched, he was amazed at the change he saw on Rhoda’s face. Whenever she spoke of her past life, the guilt and shame of it all would cloud her face like a dark veil. As she listened to the promises of cleansing, Paul could see the hope and deep longing begin to dawn in her troubled eyes. The tears that ran down her face were no longer ones of despair and of a life thrown away, but of honest repentance. She cried out as Paul prayed for her, confessing her sins aloud. Paul never admitted it afterward, but he was shocked at some of the things she confessed. She was not confessing to him, but to the One who had promised to make her white as snow. She began to shake and weep so hard that Paul reached over and held her.
“Oh, God,” he prayed, “you’ve heard this woman’s cry of her heart. You’ve promised that if we confess our sins, you are faithful to forgive us all of our sins. Forgive her and save her in the name of Jesus.”
“Oh, Paul, I feel so . . . so different.”
“You are different, Rhoda. You no longer are what you were. That’s gone forever, and God has made you His daughter. God has come into your spirit. I can see it in your eyes. The wildness and the fear and the anger, it’s all gone.”
Rhoda stood up and took several quick paces. She was still trembling, but her tear-streaked face beamed with peace and joy. “Will it go away? What I feel now?”
“No.” Paul stood up and took her hands. “That’s what brothers and sisters and the Lord are for. To help those who come into the kingdom of God.”
“Will you help me, Paul?” Rhoda asked simply.
“Yes, I’ll help you, Rhoda.” He held her hands tightly and said, “Come along. Let’s walk and I’ll tell you what it’s like to begin the Christian life.”
****
For two days Rhoda stayed in her cabin, reading the Scriptures. Paul had given her a Bible, and she was shocked, and pleased, and rejoiced at how it spoke to her. He put her to reading the book of John, and she read it every moment she was not working. Paul came by, and soon the word spread through the whole settlement that Rhoda Harper had been converted. She knew some sneered, but many came by to wish her happiness. Elizabeth, of course, was rapturous, and Deborah Stevens had come at once to throw her arms around Rhoda and tell her that she was on the Glory Road now, and she could start shouting anytime she pleased.
Rhoda had not shouted, but she had wept a great deal. Not out of misery, but out of a newfound joy.
Paul left to go preach to a group of settlers located several miles to the north, and Rhoda missed him. She ate supper alone that night and afterward picked up her Bible and began to read. The candle flickered suddenly and the door opened. When she turned, shock ran through her as she saw Jacques Cartier standing there.
“What’s the matter? You surprised to see me?” he sneered.
Rhoda could not answer for a moment. “What . . . what are you doing here, Jacques?” she stammered.
“Watching you, for one thing. A man’s been coming here. Is he one of your customers?”
“He’s a minister—and a better man than you’ll ever be! I don’t have anything to do with men anymore. And I’m not going to help you anymore, Jacques. I’ve turned away from my old ways.”
Cartier stared at her with cynicism in his eyes. “I do not think this is the way it will be.”
“Yes, it is. I won’t help you. Now get out of here!”
“And what if I tell your minister and the others what you did on the trail? Aye, what then? You think they will like that?”
Suddenly, for the first time since her conversion, Rhoda knew fear. They’ll hate me, she thought. She was yet a new Christian and was not firmly founded in the knowledge that she could trust her fellow Christians. She began to tremble, and Cartier came over and took her arm. “You will do what I tell you one more time, and then we will call it even. Aye?”
“What . . . what do you want me to do?”
“I want you to have that preacher hold a service out in the woods. They do that sometimes—I’ve seen them. I want him to have everybody there. As soon as you know when it will be, you come and tell me where it will be.”
“How do you know about the services?”
“Oh, a little bird told me.” He laughed loudly and said, “You do this one thing for me, and you won’t have to do nothing else. If you don’t, I’ll tell everybody what kind of a woman you really are. A cheat, and a liar, and how you tried to kill them all by putting poison in their water. I think you will do as I say.”
The door slammed, and Rhoda slumped into her chair in despair. She put her head down on the table and began to weep. She cried out to God, “Oh, Jesus, help me!” Over and over again she cried this. All thought of
food or sleep fled, and she walked the floor all through the night praying. When dawn finally came, she walked to the door and watched the sun come up. Lines of weariness etched her face, but a light of determination shone in her eyes, and she said, “Lord, I don’t know how to serve you, but I’ll do the best I can!”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Mercy and Grace
Paul Anderson stared at his reflection in the tiny mirror that he had fastened to the wall of a small cabin he had built—with the help of many others—and then carefully raised the straight razor. Drawing it down, he blinked with pain as it grabbed at his whiskers. The rasping sound grated on his nerves. Tears came to his eyes as he continued to rake away at the tough beard. Then he laughed aloud at himself and shook his head. “I guess it’d be easier to grow whiskers, but they make me look like a wild man, all woolly and going in every direction.” Leaning down, he washed his face in the basin and straightened up to reach for a towel, when suddenly an urgent knock came to the door. “All right. I’m coming!” he said. He tossed the towel down on the small table under the mirror, moved across the room, and when he opened the door, he was shocked to see Rhoda standing there. “Rhoda?” he said with surprise.
“Paul, I’ve got to come in.”
Rhoda practically shoved past Paul. It was hot outside, and the one window in the cabin was open, allowing light to filter through. Paul quickly pulled his shirt off of a peg, put it on, buttoned it, and then said, “I wasn’t expecting visitors.” He studied her face only for an instant and knew she was troubled. “What’s wrong, Rhoda?”
Rhoda was winding her fingers together in an agonized gesture. “Paul, after you left, something happened last night. I . . . I don’t want to tell you about it. I don’t want to tell anyone, but I have to!”
“All right. Come and sit down.” Paul pulled a chair out for the trembling woman, and when she sat down, he seated himself across from her. He saw her indecision and fear, and he said, “Most trouble isn’t as bad as we think it is, but I’m glad you came to me with it, whatever it is.”
“Paul, I’m so ashamed!”
Paul suddenly felt a stab of fear. It sounded very much as if Rhoda had fallen badly out of her Christian walk, but he allowed none of this to show on his face. “It doesn’t matter what it is. Just tell me about it, and we’ll work it out.”
“Paul, there’s a man called Jacques Cartier—he’s a wicked, evil man, Paul!” She hesitated, then said, “He’s the reason I’m here in Watauga.” When she saw the surprise on his face, she said, “He came to me when I was working at the tavern, and he paid me to travel with the train that Hawk brought out, the one that we all came on.” Rhoda sighed and continued, “Things that happened to slow the train down—Paul, I was the one who put the poison in that water. Jacques paid me to do it.”
Paul stared at her wordlessly for a moment, taken off guard. “Why would he do a terrible thing like that?”
“He’s being paid by the French. They want to keep as many English settlers out of the valley as they can. They think somehow the French can regain control of the territory. And that’s not the worst of it, Paul.” Tears came to her eyes and she said, “He came to me the night before the Indian attack. I could’ve saved Patrick’s life! I was going to tell Hawk in the morning, but the attack came before I woke up!”
Paul Anderson sat quietly, listening as Rhoda told the story. It was sordid enough, but when she was finished, he said, “Nothing has changed in your heart, Rhoda. When you became a Christian, the past was cleansed away.”
“Patrick’s still dead,” she said almost bitterly. “That won’t go away!”
“No, that’s true enough, but the wrong in your heart has gone away.” He thought for a moment and said, “We’ve got to go tell Elizabeth, and we’ve got to tell Hawk, too. What did the man want?” He sat there listening as she told him what Cartier had said, and he became alarmed. “Come along. We don’t have a moment to lose!”
****
The rifle cracked, and black smoke emerged from the barrel. Fifty yards away, a rock that had been placed on a post suddenly burst into pieces and Hawk said, “Now that’s shootin’, Andy!”
Andrew MacNeal tried to look innocent. The men that he admired the most made little of their accomplishments, so although he was delighted with the shot, he said, “I guess I’ll get the hang of it someday.”
“Well, I guess you will. If that had been a squirrel, we’d have squirrel stew for supper.”
“Can we go out and maybe shoot squirrels today, Hawk?”
“I don’t know. We’ll have to see what your mother says about that.” Hawk looked up and saw Paul and Rhoda approaching on horses. They were coming so fast that he said quickly, “Go call your mother. I think something’s wrong.”
Hawk stood there while Andrew ducked inside, and when Paul and Rhoda pulled up, he asked, “What’s wrong? Has there been an Indian attack?”
“No, but we’ve got trouble,” Paul said. He reached up and helped Rhoda down, and by the time she was on the ground, Elizabeth and Sarah had come outside, accompanied by Andrew. “What is it? Is someone sick?”
Rhoda had prepared for this moment. She set her jaw and said, “I’ve got to talk to you, Elizabeth . . . privately.”
“Why, of course. Come in the house. The rest of you, wait out here.”
“No, Hawk needs to hear it, too.”
“I’ll stay out here with the children,” Paul said at once.
Elizabeth turned, and as soon as they were in the cabin, Rhoda faced Elizabeth as if she were facing a firing squad. Without preamble she said, “A man called Jacques Cartier hired me to put poison in the water.” She went ahead and told the whole story again. Her voice quivered as she got to the point of the Indian attack, and she said, “If I’d only gone to Hawk that night, things would have been so different.”
Suddenly Rhoda began to weep. She held her hands tightly to her side, her eyes closed. She tried to hold the sobs back, but she could not. At once Elizabeth and Hawk exchanged glances. Then Elizabeth went over and put her arms around her. “You mustn’t carry guilt. There was no way you could’ve stopped the attack, and men would have been killed anyway, so you can’t hold yourself responsible for that.”
Hawk stood there listening to Elizabeth comfort the woman and thought, If everybody in the world were as forgiving as Elizabeth MacNeal, it would be a good world. Any other woman would be so angry with Rhoda for getting her husband killed that she’d want to claw her eyes out.
Finally Rhoda stopped weeping and sat down. Elizabeth said, “We won’t tell the children about this. They might not understand.”
Rhoda looked up with gratitude in her tear-filled eyes. “I’ll tell them if you want.”
“Maybe someday, but not now. Hawk, you can go ask Paul to come in now. I know something’s got to be done.” Hawk walked to the door and called Anderson.
When the four were inside, Paul asked, “Did you tell him what Cartier wanted you to do?”
“Cartier? What’s he up to now?” Hawk demanded.
“He came to my cabin last night. He wanted me to get Paul to have a meeting with as many settlers as possible. He knows we have meetings outside, and as soon as I can arrange it and get Paul to agree, he wanted me to tell him where it would be.”
“I reckon we know what he wants that for if he’s leading those renegade Indians.”
“What do we do, Hawk?” Elizabeth asked in alarm.
Hawk stood there thinking. “We’re going to be attacked. There’s no way out of that. Cartier’s made that pretty plain.” He stood as still as a statue, and then suddenly he looked at Paul and said, “Would you be willing to have a meeting?”
“I’m always willing to have a meeting, but wouldn’t that give Cartier a good chance at us?”
“I think it might give us a good chance to turn the tables on that fellow.” He smiled grimly and said, “If Cartier wants to attend one of your meetings, I think a few of us can provide a
welcome reception for him and his Indian friends.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jacques Cartier
Cartier studied the face of the woman carefully. He was devious to the heart and suspected every human being that drew breath. He had come to her after dark, and she had admitted him to her cabin. Now he stood looking down at her from his great height. “What is it you have to say, Rhoda?”
Rhoda’s face was drawn, and she looked tired. “There’s going to be a meeting the day after tomorrow. Everybody in the valley will be there. Word’s gone out. You’ve probably heard about it.”
“No, I did not hear. Where will this meeting be, and why will everyone be there?”
“You know the big walnut grove down by the bend in the river?”
“Yes, I know that place.”
“That’s where it will be. In the big open clearing there.”
“And why is everyone coming to such a meeting?”
“Reverend Anderson has called for a revival meeting, just like you told me to suggest. Everyone should be there, I expect.”
Cartier stood looking at the woman and said finally, “If you are lying to me, Rhoda, it will not go well for you.”
“I’m not lying. That’s what Paul said.”
Cartier stood looking for a moment, and then nodded. “Very well.” He hesitated, then said, “It’s better you go with me, Rhoda. This will not be a good place for you to stay.”
“No, I’m not leaving here.”
He reached forward and twisted a lock of her hair around his large finger, then shrugged with a fatalistic gesture. He turned and, as always, moved silently as a cat and left the cabin without another word.
As soon as the door closed, Rhoda took a deep breath and walked over to the chair at the small table and sat down. She clasped her hands together in front of her and sat silently for a while, then she bowed her head and began to pray.
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