“Just say yes. That’s all you need to do. I’d make you a fine husband, Maggie. I’m poor, I know, but I’m strong and educated—by a Quaker! You won’t find no finer a teacher than a smart Quaker, I’m here to tell you. I love you, Maggie. And I believe you love me too … don’t you?”
“Well, I think I do.…”
“Don’t you know your own heart? We’d make a fine married couple, you and me. Think of the stout family we’d raise! You’re the woman for me, Maggie. I’m certain of it.”
And yet still she resisted. It was very exasperating to him, the way she hesitated and sidestepped. After a time he began to think she was toying with him. She had to have realized long ago he was serious in his intentions. All this display of surprise and uncertainty was surely a pretense. And so he pressed her all the harder for an answer. He wouldn’t be put off by girlish coyness, not with the depth of feeling he had for her! The conversation went on another hour, a human, verbalized form of what would have been a ritual courtship dance in the animal or bird kingdom. David pushed, cajoled, begged, and she resisted—a little less, a little more, than less again, and less …
A few days later, David Crockett rode to the courthouse at Dandridge. When he left, the following was in his pocket, with a copy on file in the clerk’s office:
State of Tennessee—Jefferson County: To any licensed minister of the gospel or justice of the peace—Greeting: I do authorize and empower you to celebrate the rite of marriage between David Crockett and Margaret Elder and join them together as husband and wife. Given at my office in Dandridge, the 21st day of October, 1805. J. Hamilton, Clerk.
David Crockett had never known a greater happiness in his life. The finest woman in Tennessee, a specimen superior even to Amy Sumner herself, had agreed to become his wife. They had even set a date. Nothing stood in their way now … nothing but the technicality of asking her parents for their blessing on the upcoming union. It was a custom David felt bound to follow, though he dreaded it badly. After all, William Elder and wife didn’t even know their daughter had been seeing David Crockett, much less that she had engaged herself to marry him.
David pledged himself to get that difficult duty out of the way as soon as possible … well, nearly so. There was still a little time he could put it off. Surely, he argued to himself, he needed to consider his words carefully, to put it to them in just the right way. And besides, he could use a few days to gather a bit more worldly wealth. Lord knew he had little enough—a fact Maggie’s parents were certain to note.
He needed money, and quickly, if he was to obtain their blessing. And short of theft, there was only one way he could think of to obtain it.
No need to rush, David reminded himself. Don’t let them distract you—just aim at the nail head, very carefully, and then squeeze, not hard, not fast, just enough to trigger off the shot …
The lock snapped the flint forward, sparking the powder in the pan, which in turn set off the charge in the barrel. Even as the ball hurtled invisibly through the great burst of smoke that exploded out of the barrel, David knew that the shot was true. Sure enough, for the third time in succession, lead ball struck nail head, driving the home-forged spike even deeper into the target post. David lowered his smoking weapon and grinned crookedly as cheers rose all around.
Persius Tarr punched him on the shoulder. “You blasted that one like hell-blaze Dave!” he declared in a most un-Quakerish way. “That gives us the match!”
“I know,” David said, still grinning. He was proud of himself. He had shot better today than ever before, and the prize was a good one: a beef. Strictly speaking, the beef was only half his, because Persius had been his shooting partner in the match and had an equal share in the prize—though in fact it was David’s shooting that had carried the day. Not that Persius had done badly. In fact he had shot a better match today than David had ever seen him shoot before.
A tall man approached David with his hand outstretched. He had a hook nose and a pate rendered hairless and smooth as an eggshell from some long-ago bout with the scalp condition known as “scald head.” This was the sponsor and overseer of this particular match, and he had just examined the target and certified that David had indeed hit the nail head three times in a row—a most remarkable bit of shooting. “The beef is yours,” he said. “You are free to take it with you, or to sell your share for money.”
“I’d prefer the money, I believe,” David said. “I’m to be married soon, and I can hunt down meat a lot easier than money.”
“Ain’t that the truth! Congratulations to you on your marriage.” He leaned closer and spoke more softly. “Mr. McGraw yonder will gladly buy the beef from you, I believe. Before the match he asked for the right to make an offer to the winner. I’d be inclined to take his offer, if I was you. He’s going to pay with chink.”
David went to the indicated man and held a brief discussion, then shook hands and made the exchange. When he came away, he had five dollars in his pocket, and as promised, it was payment in gold coin.
Persius opted to keep his share of the beef, believing he could strike an even better bargain later. He fell in beside David. “Reckon you’re as good fixed-up as you’ll ever get for marrying.”
“Likely.”
“When you going to talk to her pap?”
David held silence, not liking the topic. Persius had asked about that quite a lot lately, and David had always put him off by saying he would talk to them as soon as he had a little more money. Now he had some money, yet the prospect of going before them didn’t seem a bit easier to swallow.
“I don’t know. I need to get it over with. I told her sometime back I’d be stopping in to see her today.”
“When’s the wedding day?”
“This coming Thursday.”
As David said that, he was struck by how close his marriage really was. Time had flown by. He really shouldn’t delay any further about asking for Margaret’s hand.
He said, “I’d best go have a word with her pap right now.”
“Why, if you’ve waited this long it can’t hurt to wait a few hours more. Look yonder! There’s a liquor jug making the rounds. This may turn into a prime frolic yet! Stay for a bit.”
David was tempted. He loved a good frolic as much as any man, and staying for a time would put off his dreaded duty a little while. He grinned and nodded. Persius slapped his shoulder again, and together they headed toward the liquor.
It was about noon, on a Saturday. The frolic went on through the afternoon, picking up steam and participants. At nightfall David was still there. He had forgotten entirely about fulfilling his pledge to visit Maggie. He was drunk, contented, and filled with fun. There was no room in his mind for any thoughts beyond those of the present moment.
The night grew old, and the party continued. A fiddler showed up, and everyone danced, with or without a partner. By now David was so mentally numbed he could hardly react to anything. So when he saw Crider Cummings stride into the clearing and glare coldly toward Persius, he failed to consider the significance and potential volatility of the event.
At last David, his head fuzzy and spinning, reeled off to the edge of the woods and flopped into the leaves. He writhed and turned a few moments, then fell into a deep, drunken sleep.
Chapter 25
Every step made his head throb. David tried to ignore it, tried to act as if all was well and last night’s revelry hadn’t so badly wrecked him mentally and physically. When he had awakened on the hard ground this morning, the first thought through his mind had been of Maggie and his failure to fulfill his promised visit. Now here it was, Sunday morning, and David was worried. Deeply worried. How would Maggie receive him, and what could he tell her as an excuse?
Even more significant: How would Maggie’s parents react? What if Maggie had cried and complained to them about his failure to arrive? Would they deny him her hand?
This was all Persius Tarr’s fault. If Persius hadn’t lured him to stay at the frolic, th
is situation wouldn’t exist.
A thought passed through David’s mind: Maybe I ought to rid myself of Persius, so his bad name doesn’t rub off on me. A man has to watch out for his reputation in the community, and Persius ain’t doing mine a bit of good.
The unfriendly thought might have shocked him, had it not come so easily and passed so quickly, and had he not at that moment come to a wagon road that led to the house of one of Maggie Elder’s uncles. He stopped, eyeing the cabin. Maybe he should stop by there first and gauge their reaction to him. If he was inhospitably received, or note was made of his hung-over condition, he could know whether it would be more prudent to go on to Maggie’s or withdraw.
He went to the door, where he finger-combed his dark hair and gave a couple of rubs to his cheekbones to return some look of life to his features. As he knocked and awaited an answer, he contorted his face into a smile so that at least he would look pleasant when the door opened. The actual effect was to give him a ghastly appearance. Feeling unsteady, he leaned on his rifle.
He was surprised when Annalee Elder answered his knock. Clearly, Annalee was equally surprised. David noted that her hair was loose and very thoroughly combed out, so that it hung straight down her back and over her shoulders. Usually she kept it tied back.
She looked at him evaluatively. Blast it—he could tell from her expression that she saw something was wrong with him.
“David. Hello. What brings you here?”
“Just a sociable call on your uncle … is he about?”
“No, not right now. He’ll be back later, him and the family.”
“Oh. Why are you here?” He had the question asked before it came to him that maybe it wasn’t his business.
Annalee blushed. “Aunt Sal, she was working on my hair some,” she mumbled. “She’s good with hair.”
“Is she? Well, I see.” He felt embarrassed that he had been so nosy—an embarrassment compounded by the realization that Annalee had been afflicted with a case of head lice, and had come here for a treatment of the herbal-and-root concoction her aunt was famous for making, a mixture that would kill lice right down to the nits.
A quick change of subject was called for. “Would you care if I come in?” he asked. “I’m thirsting for some water.”
“Come in, if you want,” Annalee said. She went to the back of the cabin and dipped a cup into a water bucket. David accepted the water and sipped it slowly. It made his head hurt merely to swallow.
He sat himself on a three-legged stool and leaned forward, elbows on knees. “Are your parents at their house?” he asked.
“Yes. They are home.” She said it in a quick, snippy way, not like she was angry, but as if the subject was delicate. Things weren’t looking good.
“Is everything well at your house?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Well, is Maggie there? I’m thinking that I’ll stop by and see her. To tell you the truth, I was supposed to call yesterday, but I took a little sick spell and … Annalee? What’s wrong?”
She had burst into tears. Burying her face in her hands, she cried vigorously. David stood.
“Annalee, has something happened to Maggie? Is she sick?”
“No, no, not sick … oh, David, it’s hard for me to tell you! She’s deceived you.”
“What does that mean?”
“She’s to be married.”
David was confused. “Well, of course she is. On Thursday. I’m the bridegroom, remember?”
“No,” she said, looking up at him with red eyes. “She’s marrying tomorrow. And you won’t be the bridegroom.”
David took it in. A sick feeling squirmed through him. “She’s getting married … who to?”
“I’d best not say. You might hurt him.”
“Hurt him? Right now I don’t have the spirit to hurt nobody.” His shoulders slumped and he wished he could lie down. He contented himself with sitting back down on the stool again and lowered his head. “It’s really true?”
“Yes.”
“So I’m jilted.”
“I’m mighty sorry, David.”
“Why did she do it?”
“She got frightened. She says you talk so much of frolics and shooting matches and such that she feared you’d be a neglectful husband. You never asked our parents for her hand, and lately another man came courting her. When you didn’t show up yesterday, she took to thinking you were having doubts, or maybe felt ashamed of her.…”
“Ashamed? How could she think—” He stopped. Now that he considered it from Margaret’s viewpoint, he could understand, however grudgingly, that she might have begun thinking that way. He searched his memories for warning signs she might have given out that he had missed. Had she been more distant the last time he had seen her, and had he been too distracted to notice? Maybe so.
“I’m mighty sorry,” Annalee said again.
Suddenly he felt sick of it all. Sick of this talk, this family, of fickle women, of the thought of marriage. Sick of life itself. Without another word he rose, grabbed his rifle, and stormed out the door. Annalee followed.
“David, you ain’t going to hurt nobody, are you?”
“No.”
“Oh, I hope you won’t. Maybe you should go to see her. Maybe you can make her change her mind. Our parents think highly of you.”
“Don’t believe I care even to try right now,” he said. He strode away, wishing he had a horse to ride. If he did, he would ride right out of the county, the state, and not stop until he was in a country he had never seen before, where nothing could remind him of Maggie Elder and a marriage that now would never take place.
But he had no horse. There was nothing to do but trudge the long distance home. His rifle felt awfully heavy.
First Amy Sumner, and now Margaret Elder. The sting had probed deep, then deeper. No more, David swore. He would go through life single, and rejoice in his freedom. Women were pliable, deceptive, self-centered creatures, more given to torturing a man than the wildest savage.
Undressing for bed that night, he wondered where Persius was. He hadn’t returned from the shooting match. John Canaday, who didn’t even know where Persius had gone in the first place, was very worried. David would have worried too, except the memory of Crider Cummings’s arrival at the frolic had left his mind, preoccupied as he was with his romantic loss.
When David finally managed to fall asleep, Persius still was not home.
Two Days Later
According to the story commonly spread around the community, Crider Cummings’s body was found covered in leaves about a hundred yards from the road. There was evidence of a scuffle; the body was bruised and scratched, and there were traces of bloody skin beneath the fingernails. He had been stabbed to death, his chest pierced three times.
The murder knife was found nearby, apparently dropped by the killer in his haste to flee. Several people were able to identify the knife as property of Persius Tarr.
And Persius Tarr himself was suspiciously absent. From the time he had left the shooting-match-turned-frolic, no one had seen him. But they had seen Crider Cummings, who arrived at the match just before Persius left. Crider had ridden out in the same direction minutes later.
Even David, who desired to give the benefit of the question to Persius, couldn’t seriously doubt what had happened. Persius and Crider had fought, Persius had stabbed him to death, and then fled. Considering Crider’s grudge against Persius, it was likely the killing had been done in self-defense. But certainly the fact that Crider’s body had been dragged away from the road and hidden in leaves, and that Persius had then fled, did nothing to enhance his situation.
This tragic turn of events greatly added to David’s depression. And it devastated John Canaday. All the deception he had been under concerning Persius Tarr’s conversion was swept away very rudely. For a time he began acting and looking his true age. David actually worried that the old man would take sick and die.
Canaday eventually got over the worst
of the shock, and bound out another boy in Persius’s place, which seemed to distract him. The fellow’s name was Jed Gilford. David wasn’t particularly happy to be sharing his sleeping loft with a stranger, because he had become accustomed to brooding, something always done better in private. He thought about leaving, but never followed through. He was too used to living away from home to consider returning there for good, and he had no means of making a living or keeping a roof over his head apart from staying on with Canaday. And so he stayed, and eventually got used to the new bound boy, who was about a year his junior.
David spent much time hunting, and continued to go to shooting matches. As far as he could see it, this would be his status for the rest of his days: living as an unmarried man, contenting himself with fields and forests and shooting matches, and having nothing at all to do with women.
Chapter 26
Though the name given her at birth was Mary, most called her Polly, and now the nickname was more hers than the real one. It was how she thought of herself, and the name by which she would soon be introduced to David Crockett, if all went according to plan.
She licked her lips for the twentieth time, and for the thirtieth smoothed down the front of her skirts—movements inspired by nervous tension. All around her was festivity; the event was one of the common frontier celebrations known as a reaping. Long planned, this one was to last three days, and it was here that she was scheduled to meet David Crockett, about whom her friend Kirsten had told her so much.
Polly Finley was excited about meeting this fellow, but also cautious, because he was said to be devoted to good times, and a young woman had to be careful around such a young man. From all she had heard about David Crockett, it seemed appropriate that she was to meet him at a party. He reportedly seldom missed a chance for celebration, and was reputed to be one of the finest shots around, almost never missing a shooting match. There would be shooting here today, and dancing, eating, drinking, and games for the children. A likely kind of place for David Crockett, judging from his reputation.
Crockett of Tennessee Page 19
