Beyond the Quiet Hills

by Aaron McCarver

  Leaning his gun carefully against the back wall of the cabin, he set to work cleaning the squirrels with an ease that comes with much practice. Picking up a squirrel, he cut through the tail up through the skin of the back, then reversed the animal and cut slits down each ham. Putting his foot over the tail, he gave a sudden, hard pull, and the skin was stripped in one smooth, easy motion. The whole job was done in less than a minute, and he whistled softly under his breath as he worked on the bag full of squirrels at his feet.

  “Looks like you found where they were.”

  Andrew looked up quickly to see Jacob, who had exited from the back door of the cabin. He was somewhat surprised to see his brother so dressed up in the middle of a working day and said, “I didn’t know we were having church tonight.”

  “We’re not,” Jacob whistled. He ran his hand over his dark, wavy hair and shrugged. “I’m going over to call on Abby.” He was wearing a pair of new brown trousers, a white cotton shirt with a string tie, and a pair of dark brown half boots that he had brought from Williamsburg with him. He only wore the boots, as a rule, to church, but now he cleaned the toes by rubbing them on the back of his trousers. “It’s her birthday,” he observed, then turned toward the small corral where his horse was grazing.

  “I didn’t know anyone had been invited,” Andrew said. “I thought she was just celebrating her birthday with her family.”

  Jacob looked over his shoulder, replying casually, “She invited me to come calling anytime.”

  Andrew dropped the squirrels and put his hands on his hips. “What do you mean to ‘come calling’?”

  Jacob turned and a grin made a slash across his tan face. He settled his soft brown hat on his head and winked. “I guess you know what it means.” He laughed at the expression on Andrew’s face, then turned and entered the corral, where he quickly saddled his horse and rode out. It gave him some sort of satisfaction to see that Andrew had not gone back to cleaning the squirrels but had watched him, and now he took his hat off and waved it. “You take care of things here!” he yelled. “I’ll take care of Abigail!”

  It was a fine day, June 17, in the year of 1774. As Jacob rode along toward the Stevenses’ house, he felt a rush of excitement, as he always did, when he anticipated seeing Abigail. He sat the horse well and thought how he had changed since leaving Williamsburg. It was not only that he had grown older—nineteen on his next birthday—but his muscles had hardened, and the softness that had been a part of his makeup had now turned into firm flesh. Now he slapped his horse on the shoulder and yelled, “Get up, Molly!” He felt exultant as the mare lifted him into a fast run. The wind caught his hat and he nearly lost it, but he managed to snatch it before it was blown off. The hot air blew his hair back, and he finally pulled the horse back to a walk. It felt good to release some of the energy he had pent up inside. He had discovered that he could only go so long without breaking out like this, and now he began to sing a tune under his breath as he moved along the trail.

  Come, all ye fair and tender ladies,

  Take warning how you court young men.

  They’re like a star in the summer morning.

  They first appear and then they’re gone.

  By the time he reached the Stevenses’ cabin, he had sung several songs. As he swung off his horse and greeted Abigail, who had stepped outside the cabin, he was filled with a quiet confidence that things were going his way.

  “Happy birthday, Abigail.” He held out a bouquet of wild flowers that he had stopped to pick along the way and tied together with a piece of string that he always carried in his pocket. “They’re not as pretty as you, but they’re the best I could do.”

  “Why, thank you, Jacob.” She took the flowers and smelled them, then turned her head to one side. “Didn’t expect to see you today.”

  “I couldn’t pass up your birthday. You’re looking mighty pretty. How does it feel to be seventeen years old?”

  “No different from sixteen. Come on and I’ll fix you some cider.” She led him inside the house, where she poured him a glass of cool apple cider.

  “Where are your folks?” he asked as he drank gratefully.

  “Oh, Papa took Mama out to show her the new calf. It was born last night. Do you want some more cider?”

  “Don’t mind if I do. That’s really good.”

  “What’s Andrew doing?”

  Jacob had lifted the glass halfway to his lips, but the question caught him off guard. “Why,” he said quickly, “I think he’s gone over to see Amanda.” As he saw a slight look of disappointment touch Abigail’s eyes, he thought to himself, All’s fair in love and war. Andrew will have to do his own courtin’. A man who won’t tell a lie for a girl just doesn’t want her bad enough. Aloud, he said, “Those two are spending a lot of time together.”

  “Oh!” Abigail tried to appear unconcerned, but it was obvious she was not.

  “Would you want to go for a walk?” Jacob asked.

  “I’d better not. My folks wouldn’t know where I was. Come on. You can see the new calf.”

  Actually Jacob felt he had seen enough calves in his life, but he had no choice but to agree. Following Abigail to the barn, he found himself having to make the most of the conversation. The calf was like all other calves, but that was not why Jacob had come to the Stevenses’. He was greeted by Abigail’s parents charitably enough, but somehow there was not an ease in Abigail’s manner. Finally, after a short stay, he made his excuses and left.

  As he rode back toward the house, he felt a twinge of conscience. “Shouldn’t have told Abby about Andrew and Amanda,” he muttered. The mare pitched her ears forward at hearing Jacob’s voice, then continued on a fast trot down the winding path that led to the Spencer cabin. Jacob stayed deep in thought most of the time and finally managed to shrug it off. He sang another verse or two of a song he had learned recently, and then thought, Well, she was in bad spirits today, but it’s just a matter of time until she realizes that I’m the man for her.

  Jacob did not want to go directly home, for there might be work to do, so he made a side trip, stopping off at the Andersons’ cabin. He was greeted warmly by Rhoda, who said, “Paul’s not here, but you can see the baby.”

  “Just what I wanted. Nothing like a brand-new baby to cheer a man up,” Jacob grinned. Actually, he did like babies, and he found the infant rather charming. At Rhoda’s invitation, he held the child on his knee as he sat on a cane-bottomed chair and drank the glass of fresh milk that Rhoda put before him. “She’s gonna be a charmer,” he said.

  “You think so?” Rhoda was at that stage of motherhood where she was hungry for compliments for the new baby. Now she looked wistful and said, “I think she looks more like her father.”

  “No, I don’t agree with that. She looks like you. Look at that dark hair, and pretty eyes, too. Just like yours.”

  “Why, thank you, Jacob.”

  Jacob sat in the cabin for a time, listening as Rhoda told him of the last trip they had made to evangelize the Cherokee. He was interested, but mainly he stayed because he liked Rhoda and knew that it pleased her to be told that her baby was pretty. Finally, however, he rose and said, “Well, I’ll have to see the Reverend the next time through.”

  “Did you want to see him about anything in particular?”

  “No. I was just on my way home. Besides, I had to see this little lady.”

  “Come back anytime, Jacob.”

  “Sure. Good to see you, Miss Rhoda.”

  By the time Jacob had arrived back at his own home, the sun was dropping behind the low hills to the east. Looking up, he saw the pale disk of the moon and said out loud, “I wonder how come you can see the sun and the moon at the same time? I’d think they’d be on opposite ends or something.”

  Stepping off his horse, he led the mare into the barn, unsaddled her, then turned her loose in the corral. He spotted Amanda outside the cabin she shared with her mother and walked over to speak to her. “Hello, Amanda,” he said.<
br />
  “Hello, Jacob. How was Abigail?”

  “Why, she was fine. How’d you know I was there?”

  “Oh, Andrew mentioned it. Did she have a good birthday?”

  “Not as good as last year. You remember that big party?”

  “That was a good time, wasn’t it, Jacob?”

  A smile touched Amanda’s soft lips, and suddenly Jacob was aware of the developing maturity and the youthful curves of the young woman. She’s fifteen now, he thought. Going to be young fellows come courting her pretty soon. He admired the sheen of her long, dark brown hair and teased her a little bit. “I’m surprised Joseph Foster’s not here. I saw him making eyes at you in church last week.”

  “Oh, he did not!” Amanda flushed and shook her head firmly. “He’s just silly!”

  “I hope you don’t think it’s silly for a young fella to like to look at a pretty girl.”

  He saw that his compliment had turned Amanda speechless. She was a painfully shy and unconfident girl. Jacob’s anger seethed inside at the thought of what Amanda’s father had done to her to make her feel so worthless. That rotten pa of hers ought to be hung, he thought, for the way he’s treated this girl. He liked Amanda a great deal and now took the time to talk with her a little longer.

  “Abigail’s a wonderful person, isn’t she?”

  “Anyone that would get her would be very lucky, Jacob.”

  “I agree with that, too.” Then he reached out and patted her shoulder. It was firm and warm beneath his touch, and he smiled as he said, “Anyone that gets you is going to be a lucky fellow, too, Amanda. You’re growing up so fast I can’t keep up with you.”

  Amanda looked down at the ground. The compliment brought such a sudden warmth to her that she could not speak again. She had long known of her attraction to Jacob Spencer, but she had not breathed a word of it to a living soul, not even to her mother. Finally she whispered, “Thank you, Jacob.”

  Then he patted her shoulder once more and walked away. “I’ll see you later, Amanda.”

  “All right, Jacob.” She thought for a long time about what he had said. It was the most complete compliment he had ever paid her. “Any fellow that would get you would be lucky, Amanda.” She knew she would treasure those words and think of them for a long time, maybe for the rest of her life. Few enough good things had been a part of this young girl’s life who had such capacity for love and so little outlet for it.

  Now as she moved back and sat inside the cabin, Iris asked, “Was that Jacob?”

  “Yes. He just got back from Abigail’s.”

  “Oh? That’s nice. I expect those two will be getting serious one of these days.”

  “I expect you’re right, Mother.”

  ****

  As soon as Jacob got home, he went into the new section of the cabin that he shared with Andrew and found his brother reading a book. Andrew looked up to say, “How was Abigail?”

  “Oh, fine.” Then he fabricated the truth somewhat by telling Andrew what a good time the two had had. He had been disappointed at the visit and now found himself lying again. When he saw Andrew just listening with a strange expression on his face, he began to despise himself. “Well,” he said, “that was about all there was to it.”

  “I’m glad you had a good time,” Andrew said quietly.

  Jacob shot a quick glance at Andrew’s face and saw nothing but a quiet honesty. He, however, felt he had not behaved well, and as he removed his good clothes to put on older ones, he said to himself, I’ve got to stop acting like this. I don’t have to win Abby away from Andrew by telling lies.

  ****

  “Did you have a good time on your birthday?” Deborah Stevens asked as Abigail stood before her.

  “Oh yes, Mama.”

  The two had been sitting together listening as George had read to them. Finally George yawned and said, “It’s getting late for me. I’ve got to get up early in the morning.” He rose to kiss Abigail on the cheek and gave her a hug. “Happy Birthday, Abigail.”

  “Thank you, Pa.”

  “It wasn’t much of a birthday,” he observed, studying her face. “Last year we had a big celebration.”

  “It was all right. I enjoyed being with just you and Ma.”

  “Next year we’ll have a big party again,” Stevens promised. He left the room and for a time the two sat there talking quietly.

  Noting that Abigail had little to say, Deborah asked tentatively, “Is something wrong, Abby?”

  “I was only wishing that Andrew had come over to wish me a happy birthday.”

  “Well, we didn’t really invite him. It was your idea.”

  “I know. I just thought . . . I thought he might drop by.”

  “I guess he got too busy and lost track of the time until it was too late.”

  “Maybe,” Abigail said with a lack of enthusiasm. She rose and said, “I think I’ll go to bed, Mother. I’m a little tired.”

  This set off a small alarm in Deborah Stevens, for Abigail was rarely tired. The girl had a great deal of inner strength and physical endurance. Now Deborah asked abruptly, “Why does it matter so much to you that Andrew didn’t come? Are you interested in him?”

  “Oh no! It’s just that I’ve always liked him so much. We’ve been good friends for a long time. I just thought he might come.”

  Deborah rose and gave her daughter a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll tell you what,” she said. “Why don’t you ask him over to supper one night this week? Not for a birthday or anything, just to spend some time with us all.”

  “Oh, that would be nice, Mother!” Abigail’s eyes lightened, and she kissed her mother, then turned and went to bed.

  She undressed quickly, slipped into a cotton nightgown, then blew out the candle and lay down. Outside, the stars made a sparkling canopy over the earth, and the moon was a huge silver disk. The pale light filtered in through the window and lit the room brightly. Abigail lay awake, not being sleepy. She thought once about getting up and lighting a candle to read for a while but decided not to. Finally she grew drowsy, and just before she dropped off to sleep, she found herself thinking of Jacob Spencer and Andrew MacNeal. They’re so different, she thought just before she drifted off into a deep sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Lord Dunmore’s War

  All of the trouble between the Indians and the settlers on the frontier had stemmed from the same source: the Indians had no concept of the ownership of land. They roamed over it killing their game, raising their families, moving from point to point when food became scarce—but as for owning the land, any attempt to explain this to them was usually futile. Therefore, as settlers began to filter across the Appalachian Mountains, inevitable conflicts arose. One of these conflicts was given the grandiose name of Lord Dunmore’s War, after Virginia’s military commander who was claiming the Indian lands of Can-tuc-kee for the British.

  The events leading up to this conflict began in the late spring of 1774. The Cherokee were still angry over the murder of Cherokee Billie during the horse races on the Sycamore Shoals. Only the firm hand of Little Carpenter and a few of the other older chiefs kept war from breaking out right then. However, when another senseless killing took place along the Ohio River, the flood of war could no longer be contained.

  A small party of Mingo were camped by the mouth of Yellow Creek at a spot called Bakers Bottom. Two men, both rather unsavory characters, Greathouse and Tomlinson, formed a motley crew of some twenty-seven men. The two hated Indians and let no opportunity escape to kill whenever they thought the time was right. Greathouse formulated a plan and moved across the river, where they were greeted by an Iroquois chief named Shikellimus. Greathouse was fluent in the Iroquois language and told the old Indian that they would like his band to join them for some rum and a marksmanship contest. Shikellimus declined but said he would send over five or six good marksmen to represent the Mingo.

  Among the marksmen that went over was a pregnant Indian woman who was the daught
er of Shikellimus and also the sister of Chief John Logan. Her brother, also called Talgayetta, was the Mingo chief of the Cuyahoga Indians, one of the five tribes grouped with the Iroquois. Logan was friendly to whites and had flatly refused to take part in the French and Indian War. He was a notable peacemaker and a valuable ally of the white settlers.

  Early in the afternoon the small party of Mingo joined the whites and sat for some time drinking rum and engaging in sharpshooting. It was Logan’s sister who suddenly uttered a piercing cry, leaped up, and ran toward the river.

  By this time the Mingo were half drunk and looked around in confusion at the white men bearing muskets who had leaped out from hiding in the weeds. The Indians fumbled for their own weapons, but a volley of shots rang out, and all the Indians fell dead or dying. Knowing that the remaining Mingo across the river would come quickly to investigate, the entire party of whites fled after killing the Indians who had ferried the other victims across.

  It was a senseless crime, and it changed the heart of the mighty Mingo chief, John Logan, who had never struck out at the whites, despite provocation. The next day, however, Chief Logan stood over the scalped and mutilated bodies of his kinsmen and great anger rose in him. He was transformed almost instantly into a man set on vengeance, and he vowed that he would not rest until the murderers of his people were dead.

  Chief Logan’s band fell upon the settlers almost instantly. Those who survived fled for safety, and by midsummer there was not a white settler left in all of Can-tuc-kee.

  Logan visited the Cherokee, encouraging them to join him and drive the white man out of their native lands, but Oconostota and the Little Carpenter told Logan they had given their word not to retaliate for the murder of Cherokee Billie. The Cherokee nation would remain neutral, although some of the younger, more violent warriors, no doubt, joined Logan.